


Ocean Eyes and Stormcloud Minds

by IShouldUpdateMore



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron Legendary Defender, vld - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Keith, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Betrayal, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cabin boy Lance, Captain Keith, Comfort/Angst, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Drunk comfort, Gay Keith (Voltron), Graphic descriptions, Homesickness, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Insecurities, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, M/M, Mutiny, Nightmares, No Allura, No Coran, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Pirate AU, Pirates, Sad Keith (Voltron), Sexual Innuendoes, Sexual implications, Stitches, Swearing, Trauma, Violence, Voltron au, Where Is Shiro?, disease mention, stab wounds, unsteady relationship, wound stitching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:51:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 51,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9990689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldUpdateMore/pseuds/IShouldUpdateMore
Summary: Lance Serrano reluctantly lived on routine. Eat, work, eat, sleep. Eat, work, eat, sleep. Everyday. Only on circumstances like being deathly ill or having the weather so extreme you couldn't step foot outside did he dare to deviate from this, despite how he clearly hated having to get up so early and work so long.When he didn't show up for work one day, something bad had definitely happened.Something like being kidnapped by the most feared pirate crew known to man.Keith Kogane was rumoured to be bloodthirsty, ruthless, and intimidating to men of the highest stature. Where his sense of righteousness lay was below any other criminal known to have existed, and one of the features he was most known for was cutting anyone who boarded his ship, part of his crew or not.All Lance wants is to see his family again, and yet, as toxic as this captain may be, the defensive ex-dock worker finds himself drawn in by his cold exterior and brutal attitude. But by the time he realises how fatal this attraction could become, it's too late to pull back, and seeing his family again seems an almost impossible dream.How much worse can it get?





	1. The Beginning

Ending up on a pirate ship at five in the morning doesn't tend to be a popular occurrence.

 

 

The foggy morning haze swarmed the deck, enveloping it almost entirely and blocking near all of the extravagant (and overly expensive) ships from view.

 

 

Still groggy from waking up at four in the morning, Lance trudged toward the ports with great reluctance. His shifts had been extended, and he regretted his decision to accept that as a fact, whether or not it came with a proportional pay rise. He'd claimed, both to himself and other, that he needed the money.

 

Waking at four and going to sleep at approximately eleven, midnight if he had any issues during the day, wasn’t worth the extra cash. Compared to his last routine, this was an absurd stretch. How much more did he think that he could take? Yet, whenever he doubted himself, he’d insist that he just needed another week and he’d be used to the routine again. Much to his dismay, as the days went on, this lie got harder and harder to tell. His cravings for a nap- for any form of unconsciousness that could stop this sluggishness- were interfering with work.

 

The only reason he had yet to pass out for longer than an hour was because of his wake-up calls. It happened one of two ways- he was smacked into consciousness (commonly with a newspaper, or just the back of a hand) or he got a handful of cold, salty water to the face. He believed he had a day off coming up soon- he’d sleep it all away, and promptly complain about these ridiculously long hours afterwards- when he could think again.

 

 

A ship was docking, he noted. Port two, the other end of the docks, would be occupied in an hour, so he would get there and get a few winks before they docked and woke him. That’d be an ideal way to spend the first hour of his ship. He walked past the office and picked up the pen, scrawling his name down messily to sign in. He dragged his feet along the floor, hauling his own heavy weight with almost embarrassing eagerness for his potentially upcoming nap. One hand slid through his soft hair, and he was suddenly thankful that he’d managed to wash himself the previous evening- though sleepiness was quick to try to take control of him.

 

He reached the end of the docks sooner than he’d expected, assuming he’d blanked out temporarily, and made sure he was on the second dock from the end. He strode up to a chair by a small wooden post. It looked beat up and old, but he paid it no mind, and instead found himself frowning as his gaze turned to the wooden platform. A few steps further forward and the fog cleared a little more. Was he an hour late? The silhouette of a ship was standing strong against the purple mist.

 

 

A few steps closer and he realised that this wasn’t a ship he was familiar with. Had they branched out but kept him from knowing? It’d not be the first time there was a business expansion that he wasn’t privy to. Those without authority would be stupid to dock at a monitored port, especially with someone on duty. Forcing himself to subdue his paranoia, Lance made his way toward the boarding plank. It didn’t seem to be a seafaring vessel- the sharp black paint was clean and had yet to be washed-out by the rough seas or barnacles, and the sepia details had been painted with precision, giving it a clean and prestigious appearance.

 

The paling was carved out of darkened, varnished cherrywood that were recent additions to the ship. Markings on the walls that this paling was fixed to make it clear that there had previously been a different rail to the ship, rust showing that it had been added with large metal fixtures. This railing had been attached using a different form of joint- this time wooden- meaning that there was no hint of the ugliness. This ship wasn’t new but it had recently been done up. Perhaps to be presentable, after joining the new company.

Possibly because a recent increase in money had brought an urge to waste money, so the ship had been renovated. Perhaps there had been... pirate trouble. Damage to the ship had caused them to need to repair it, so they'd renovated it instead. 

 

Lance’s eyes were drawn to the finishing. The structure was made with precision, a perfectly crescent-shaped arch. This was all black, following the form of the ship. He was boarding the ship before he was even aware of it. Stood on the ship, he slid his hand along the varnished bannister, admiring the craftsmanship and the detail in it, before turning his attention to the floor. It had a few scuffs but was mostly clean. This, again, was a recent instalment to the ship. He glanced up, his gaze following the mast, but the crows nest was lost to the fog, as well as the flag above it. Lance was unable to admire any more of the ship without drawing attention to himself for being onboard. That was when he realised exactly what he was doing.

 

Not only was he aboard a ship without introducing himself, but he was also unsure whether or not the ship was supposed to be here. A wave of paranoia followed the realisation and he silently cursed himself for his stupidity. Shrouded in fog, he couldn’t even see the end of the dock, where he had been stood around five minutes ago. He envied this ship. He, with his dirty beige shirt and his brown waistcoat, his black pants that were scratched and faded, had been saving his money for years for a vessel such as this one.

How many more years would it take for him to earn the money for a ship as extravagant as this? He’d be working until he died. Piracy, no matter how much he hated it, was a lifestyle he understood. Money was especially hard to come by in Cuba, even if you worked at the trading docks in a seaside town. He’d have turned to a life of crime long ago if it meant he could have a ship like this.

Instead, he assumed that this belonged to someone wealthy- a general or an admiral had funded the purchase of this ship for trading. He’d not even start on his envying their positions. Wealth without excessive work was a luxury he’d never live to know of.

 

He knew it was just his paranoia swirling in his brain- it worsened when he lacked sleep, but he couldn’t help the wave of anxiety that filled his mind. Even the talk of pirates having a ship like this worried him. Did pirates own this ship, or was he a paranoid idiot? Both, he figured, were as likely as the other. He paced around with anxiousness clear in his demeanour, now cursing the fog. The ocean looked beautifully mysterious with it, but it wasn’t something that he could linger to admire. He wanted to find out what the flag was, and what it had on it, but he couldn’t see it from here. This, irritatingly, induced further paranoia. The lacking presence of crew members concerned him. It was protocol to have someone present on deck at all times so that there would be someone to speak to if he needed to be in contact with someone. Where were they?

 

Swallowing his nerves and forcing the sickly feeling in his stomach back so that he could talk, Lance decided to be vocal.

“H-Hola?” he called out loudly, though his voice was shakier than intended and showed no authority, as usual. His nerves would be the death of him one day.

“My, my,” remarked a loud voice, full of piercing authority and coldness- though there were hints of amusements and entertainment. “Who do we ‘ave 'ere?” Lance couldn’t help his body tensing, and he glanced around. The source of the voice was shrouded in fog, but a few steps forward made a silhouette appear.

 

This man had a wide-set stance, his hands on his hips and his feet placed shoulder-width apart. He seemed to radiate pride, and Lance couldn’t even see him clearly. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself, his frown making his freckled nose scrunch up slightly. His blue eyes scanned the area for anyone else. It didn’t feel right for this place to be so empty.

“¡M-Me llamo Lance!” He tried to clear his mind a little, focusing on English, as that was what he was being spoken to in. His mind was so hazy with paranoia he could barely even think about speaking in Spanish, his first language. “My name is Lance! I work at these docks- I demand to see your papers!” He folded his arms over his chest, trying to come across as a little confident, despite how he clearly wasn’t.

 

"Aye, 's that so?" The voice came again, now accompanied by a cold edge to it, thus causing a shudder to slide down Lance's spine like ice. The cold spread along his nerves and he wrapped his arms around himself awkwardly, for warmth while the shudder passed, prior to straightening up and focusing on looking a little less timid.

 

"Ivy!"

 

The voice, though previously calm and collected, almost taunting with its composure, was now brash and raised; edged with a coldness that commands held. This non-verbal command, one that had no need to be explicitly mentioned or ordered in a more explanatory way, was some form of threat. Lance felt an overwhelming urge to leave and escape the pier.

He felt the need to go to the authorities and alert them of the ship- to share the details he'd admired meticulously so that this ship could be investigated, if not put on watch, but it was only a few seconds of this until he realised his own fear had paralysed him. He knew he wasn't especially brave, and he was aware that he's lived a pacifist life up until recent events, but he never recalled being so afraid that it took merely one word, one that wasn't even explicitly a command, to drive him to such a fear-ridden state.

 

By the time he could move, adrenaline was pumping through his veins and he could hear his pulse ringing in his ears. His mind was only telling him to run and he complied- though he only got as far as turning before a face blocked his vision. He almost jolted back- he would have, provided that his mind had registered this- and instead ended up continuing clumsily forward. He was struck over the head with, as far as he could tell, the hilt of a blade or the heel of a gun was slammed into his head. The impact to his temple caused his body to jolt, seize up, and then he collapsed, nearing unconsciousness. 

 

Running had been a choice for perhaps the first few seconds after the command was issued, but any later than that and he should have known that he was doomed. For the last few moments that his eyes were open enough for him to be aware of the world around him, he noticed that the fog had cleared up. He sent a glance to the dock with his hazy eyes, now able to see the large sign that told the public to keep away.

Due to his tiredness, Lance had gone onto the wrong deck. He, in a moment of blind stupidity, had stumbled upon an unstable section of the pier, where the public wasn't permitted because it wasn't safe, and where an unknown ship was currently docked. His head was turned upwards and the face, now blurry as his eyes went out of focus, checked his state. As the weapon was raised for a second stripe, he got a view of the crows nest and saw the flickering of a flag above it.

 

An ebony splodge in his vision made it clear that he should never have approached this ship.

 

He should never have taken this shift.

 

A cry was driven past his lips as the object was brought down and he finally lost his consciousness. Blood pooled into drops and began to dribble down from his forehead as the aftermath of the impact.

 

Lance had made an idiots mistake, and now he was stuck aboard a pirate ship.


	2. Meeting 'Yellow'.

”I swear to you, Sir. I'll prove myself." 

The decision was, perhaps, almost as impulsive as it was selfless. He was tempted to indulge in selfish habits and declare that he’d rather die. Perhaps insulting this man, who seemed to be the captain (he certainly carried himself like one) would bring him a swifter death? A slash across the neck would be much more appreciated than drowning. He was only considering the now- the abuse and the danger of death, not to mention the cruelty he could be subjected to, but there were so many potential consequences.

And considering escape? His family named would be stained. What if he were caught? Would he be hanged? He’d spend his last while on earth living as a pirate and, not long after, he would die as one. Even if he chose to stay, and he were caught, this would declare his family as untrustworthy by pirate association. The shame his family would feel… Would he be disowned? Would they cover up any traces or association with him? 

He doubted he’d be remembered as a family-favourite if anyone knew where he was.

 

Forcing those morbid thoughts aside, he turned his attention to his current situation. He’d not let this mans arrogance or authority get the better of him- that much he was sure of. He looked the man in the eyes and, as if to test his dominance, spoke again.  
“Will I be let loose now, or do you plan on me being useful without my limbs?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and the man let a smile curl onto his lips. He knelt down before Lance and reached around him. The brunet’s breath caught as he felt a sharp blade near his restrained wrists.

 

A few tense moments passed. Their bodies were uncomfortably close together, but Lance seemed to be the only one that experienced any discomfort. A soft, scratchy sound passed as the blade moved and Lance was soon able to pull his wrists free, finally. The rope fell away and he began rubbing his raw wrists, breathing out a curse at how the irritated skin stung.

 

He hauled his weight to his feet, wobbled, but nonetheless regained his baLance. He could feel his blood rush through his legs once more and clung to a beam while feeling returned to the lower half of his body. The man, impatient, was getting quickly bored of how long the brunet took to do as he was told.

 

A soft, relieved sigh slid out from his lips before his gaze landed on the stern expression of his new superior.  
“What do you wish to be called?” He questioned respectfully, losing all bitterness and sarcasm that he’d had merely minutes earlier. The man arched an eyebrow.  
“You haven’t any idea who I am?” He asked with a sneer, though he seemed to remind himself of something and sighed, taking a small step back. He composed himself. “Captain Keith Kogane. /You/ shall refer to me as Captain Kogane or just Captain. Nothin’ else ’till I decide that yer worthy.” He glanced away for a moment, before he recollected himself once more and straightened up. Lance simply nodded, murmuring a submissive ‘yes, Captain’. 

 

Something was off about this captain.

Lance wasn’t sure what it was, but authority didn’t suit him. He demanded it and seemed to earn it, but Lance could see him thinking through his words and actions meticulously before doing anything. It was almost like he was afraid of slipping up. Curiosity struck, as per usual. What would this man be like when he were angry? Anger took away impulse control and the fear of making mistakes. He wanted to see this man for who he was, nothing less.

It was almost like this position wasn’t supposed to be his.

 

He gLanced towards the stairs and stepped forward, tense. Reluctantly approaching the upper deck, Lance found the vile scent of sweat and body odour from the crews quarters almost overpowering while it passed. The sunlight was bright and he was already forced to squint as he took ahold of the rope railing beside the stairs. He continued upwards, the light getting brighter and sounds that he’d tuned out while he had the choice was suddenly the only thing he could hear. The crashing of the waves was quieter up here, though that was a consequence of the loudness of the crew. He could hear calls and vulgarities being tossed around aboard the ship, the conversations being vastly varied depending on whereabouts you looked.

From one direction, he could hear someone shouting about a doxy- he felt some urge of pride at how he’d remembered that word, even if it was unimportant slang- and not leaving out a single detail, not even of the unpleasantries. In another, he heard about drinking and festivities that were rumoured to be getting done that evening. He could even hear a few people muttering insulting things about him, though that was hardly surprising. He was just glad that he could barely understand the slang.

 

Kogane soon stood beside him. One foot hooked slightly around Lance’s, he turned his attention to the crew and called out for a stranger named ‘Green’. This was exactly what had been called out before Lance had blacked out, and he assumed that that was a name. Whoever was called got the hint, and he soon heard a loud bell ringing. The crew quietened upon hearing it.

 

A few moments passed before those who weren’t doing crucial jobs swung down to join Keith, forming a crescent around him and the stranger. Lance forced his expression to stay neutral but still kept his pride about him. The last thing he wanted was to be viewed as weak and pathetic- this experience was already destined to be hellish without an increased chance of bullying.

 

He felt exposed. It was like he’d been stripped naked and shoved into the town centre. All the attention was either on him or Keith, and the attention of many murderers, thieves, whatever else, was the last kind of attention he wanted. A small whisper urged him forward and he took a step, tripping over Keith’s foot- hooked around his- and stumbled.

The captain smiled with some strange triumph, as that had been his intention, and Lance had to avoid glaring at him upon regaining his baLance. He couldn’t bring himself to speak and murmurs started to rise. He couldn’t pick out anything other than infrequent words, but the language used was unpleasant. He looked down, subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. His shoes were suddenly much, much more interesting and intriguing than anything else. He figured it wouldn’t be hard to entertain himself by staring at his feet- he could try to figure out where each scratch or scuff on his shoes came from.

 

 

The sound of cork-based boots slamming on a hardwood deck caught Lance’s attention, diverting it from the ship to the male stood beside him. It was intriguing- Keith seemed to take charge well despite how his discomfort was clear.  
“Shut yer mouths, the lotta ya!” his voice snapped, cold and direct, full of some anger that died away when he finished speaking. Lance, once more, averted his eyes. He was aware that showing confidence would be a good way to make a first impression, but the last thing that he wanted was to attract unwanted attention and have people challenging him for confidence he didn’t currently have.

 

Soon, though, his eyes did flicker upwards for him to begin scanning the crowd at infrequent intervals. He was curious to see who he would live amongst for an unknown amount of time. He could only hope that these would be the men he’d die amongst. His trembling hands were toying with the hem of his shirt as an anxious habit. Soon, though, his eyes landed upon a friendly face.

It was unusual, and stuck out like a sore thumb now that it had been noticed. Lance frowned, turning his attention to this stranger. He had dark skin and dark eyes, black hair and an orange band to keep it from his face. It was surprisingly clean, too, which showed that he may care for cleanliness and hygiene. His eyes were warm and he seemed sympathetic toward Lance. That was endearing.

 

Capturing his attention away from the stranger, Captain Kogane spoke up once more.  
“I’m not too pleased to present to ya a new member o’ the crew!” He announced, grabbing ahold of Lance by his arm and pushing him forwards once more, enabling the crew to get a good look at him.

“I expect hospitality but refrain from gettin’ attached!” he proceeded, grinning wickedly now. Lance frowned, glancing back at him and then out at the crew. “Aye, he’ll be lucky to last any longer than a day!

 

"He has today to find something he's good at before I let you all do as you please before we throw him overboard." The captain announced, and Lance almost whimpered at the harshness and sheer lack of care in his tone. He fixed his gaze on the ground again, running his fingers over the soft, damaged skin the rope had marked. He sighed softly, relieved that Keith hadn't heard his sigh before the captain cleared his throat and Lance felt a hand harshly shove him forward, causing him to stumble again but still not fall. He didn't want to embarrass himself that badly in front of all these people. Although, the brunet suddenly became aware that Keith had been speaking to him, and several people on the deck were snickering at his pure idiocy.  
"I said, Blue, that you're paired with Yellow. Get out of my sight before I get annoyed." He said coldly and Lance nodded, not questioning the nickname as he looked over and saw the same man as earlier point at himself, that being a hint as to who was 'Yellow'. 

Lance walked over, the crew parting for him and keeping their gazes latched onto the male, all wanting to get a look at him to see exactly how scrawny and how much of a misfit he was. He could already hear people betting on how long it'd be before either Keith threw him overboard, or he threw himself off the edge of the ship in an attempt at escaping. The man looked down at him, smiling a little and taking his arm, walking a little further away from the crowd, who were quickly ordered back to their places while the slightly shorter man looked up at Lance, a small smile on his lips. Yellow seemed friendly, at least.  
"I'm Hunk." He said, holding one hand out for Lance to shake, and he did gladly - relieved that someone was nice to him, on this damn vessel.  "But as we all have to call each other by nicknames on ship, call me Yellow. How about you, Blue? What's your real name?" He asked, his voice strangely soft for somewhere like this. Lance didn't respond for a moment, but as he pulled his hand from the large mans soft grip, he thought that this place would be a lot more hellish without someone he could trust.

He opened his mouth to speak, his voice hoarse and his tone quiet compared to usual. "L-Lance. I'm Lance." He said, forcing a smile onto his face as he looked at Kogane. The black haired man smiled at him and nodded, before some harsh words shot in their direction made him realise he was meant to be doing something other than introducing him.  
"Everyone on board has to do something. Keith does not tolerate laziness- I've seen the consequences wiv me own eyes." He said, taking Lance to where a collection of ropes had been loosely and hurriedly tied, taking a marlin spike and starting to undo the knots. Lance watched and occasionally helped when he was asked, chewing his bottom lip as he listened intently, determined not to be killed here, as all he wanted to do was see his family again.


	3. A Decision Is Made

"I'll prove myself. I'm not dying here." Lance said, despite how every rational voice in his mind was telling him to run, to jump overboard and swim home or to drown instead of being stuck and potentially arrested for being associated with pirates. Nonetheless, though, he stared the captain in the eyes as he spoke, forcing as much confidence into his tone as he could. He wanted to have a chance, even if only a small chance, of seeing his family again at some point. As long as he clung to the thoughts of his family and didn't let this man's arrogance get the better of him, he'd be fine. He had to be. The captain grinned maliciously, wanting to see this brunet attempt to prove that he's useful in one way or another. He'd likely throw him overboard, anyway, whether he did well or not.

 

Lance watched the man's every move as the captain approached him, kneeling down incredibly close to the brunet. A blade pressed against Lance's skin for a second before the knot was sawn through and off, releasing his hands. He breathed out a soft sigh in relief and examined the red, rope burned marks around his soft wrists, seeming satisfied that they weren't as serious as they were painful. He slowly stood, stretching a little and quietly cursing at the hints of pain dancing across the broken skin on his legs. He glanced at the man, turning and placing one hand on the handle of the door. "S-So what should I refer to you as?" He asked, not sure whether to call him 'sir', 'captain', or just by his name.

"Captain Kogane, but Captain Red will do." He said, pushing the door open and harshly shoving Lance onto the deck, watching the male stumble and almost fall, but seeming somewhat disappointed when he didn't actually fall.

 

That almost immediately got people's attention, and upon seeing the brunet with no restraints and having been hardly hurt, several people looked up at Keith with confused expressions. Lance felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and irritation at looking so clumsy, before he straightened up and scanned the faces of everyone currently on deck. Someone slid down from the mast using a rope just to get a better look at him, and he almost wanted to back away before he forced a small smile onto his lips. He usually liked attention and such, but when you're the new boy on a pirate ship going to god-knows-where with murderers and thieves around you... attention is the last thing you'd want.

 

Murmurs spread across the ship and the embarrassed blush spread up to Lances ears, but he didn't want to back down or look away, too scared of showing weakness and being ridiculed or treated like the outcast he felt he was.

"Looks like the new kid's getting nervous~" Someone called teasingly, and Lance bit the inside of his lip, keeping quiet.

"Did you see him stumble? Of course he's nervous. A landlubber shouldn't be here." Lance was tempted to step forward and say he was pushed, and didn't stumble out of clumsiness, but forced himself to stay silent and avoid further teasing. The murmurs and mumbles grew to the point where Lance averted his eyes out of embarrassment and fear of being picked on further, instead fixing his gaze onto his shoes.

 

Keith slammed his foot down on the deck to silence everyone, a hard edge in his eyes and something intimidating in his demeanour.

"Shut up, the lot of you!" He shouted, looking incredibly angry as he straightened up more, even catching Lances attention, but the blue-eyed boy immediately stopped looking at Keith, afraid of being shouted at for any reason. He hid his trembling hands in his pockets and scanned the crowd again, seeing a roundish face looking back at him. The only difference between this person and everyone else was that he wasn't looking at Lance like he was a freak or like he didn't belong here. He was looking at him like he felt bad for the brunet. He could take comfort in knowing that someone on deck wasn't as bad as the rest, at least.

 

"We have a new member of our crew, but don't get too attached. He has today to find something he's good at before I let you all do as you please and we throw him overboard." The captain announced, and Lance almost whimpered at the harshness and sheer lack of care in his tone. He fixed his gaze on the ground again, running his fingers over the soft, damaged skin the rope had marked. He sighed softly, relieved that Keith hadn't heard his sigh before the captain cleared his throat and Lance felt a hand harshly shove him forward, causing him to stumble again but still not fall. He didn't want to embarrass himself _that_ badly in front of all these people. Although, the brunet suddenly became aware that Keith had been speaking to him, and several people on the deck were snickering at his pure idiocy.

"I said, _Blue_ , that you're paired with Yellow. Get out of my sight before I get annoyed." He said coldly and Lance nodded, not commenting about how much he hated the nickname as he looked over and saw the same man as earlier point at himself, that being a hint as to who was 'Yellow'.

 

Lance walked over, the crew parting for him and keeping their gazes latched onto the male, all wanting to get a look at him to see exactly how scrawny and how much of a misfit he was. He could already hear people betting on how long it'd be before either Keith threw him overboard, or he threw himself off the edge of the ship in an attempt at escaping. The man looked down at him, smiling a little and taking his arm, walking a little further away from the crowd, who were quickly ordered back to their places while the slightly taller man looked down at Lance, a small smile on his lips. Yellow seemed friendly, at least.

"I'm Hunk." He said, holding one hand out for Lance to shake, and he did gladly - relieved that someone was nice to him, on this damn vessel. "But as we all have to call each other by nicknames onboard, call me Yellow. How about you, Blue? What's your real name?" He asked, his voice strangely soft for somewhere like this. Lance didn't respond for a moment, but as he pulled his hand from the large males soft grip, he thought that this place would be a lot more hellish without someone he could trust.

 

He opened his mouth to speak, his voice hoarse and his tone quiet compared to usual. "L-Lance. I'm Lance." He said, forcing a smile onto his face as he looked at Hunk. The black haired man smiled at him and nodded before some harsh words shot in their direction made him realise he was meant to be doing something other than introducing himself.

"Everyone on board has to do something. Keith does not tolerate laziness- I've seen what happens when someone doesn't carry their own weight, and you do _not_ want that happening to you." He said, taking Lance to where a collection of ropes had been loosely and hurriedly tied, taking a marlin spike and starting to undo the knots. Lance watched and occasionally helped when he was asked, chewing his bottom lip as he listened intently, determined not to be killed here, as all he wanted to do was see his family again.


	4. Exploring The Ship.

It was almost shameful how long it took Lance to understand Hunk’s explanation on how to tie knots with stupid and shitty names. What the hell was the point in knowing the names of a bowline or a figure-eight or a reef or a stopper or whatever the fuck. He sighed a little, frustrated. The names weren’t the problem, the knots were. How was he supposed to remember how to do complex things if they had complex names, too? Lance was handed some stray ropes. Their knots had gotten too tight and he was tasked with redoing them in case an emergency required the crates to be untied and transported, either off of the ship or to an upper/lower deck.

One hand ran through his unkempt hair and Lance pushed it out of his face, grumbling slightly.  
“Rolling hitch,” Hunk called over to Lance, working on tying his own. Lance glanced to him, admiring the male a little. He had messy hair tied out of his face with an orange bandana, dirtied and bleached by the sun so that it was more pastel with brown splotches than it was orange. Lance made a note that, if he got through this, he would purchase him a new one. Hunk /was/ the only person helping him, after all. It was only fair that Lance got to thank him.  
His tongue stuck out slightly on the left corner of his mouth when he focused, his lips pursed around it and eyebrows knitted to show his focus as he looped the ropes together. Lance reminded himself of what he was supposed to be doing and turned his attention back to the ropes in his hands.

Which one was it again? Rolling… what? A soft sigh escaped him. He didn’t need to remember the name. He glanced to what Hunk was doing and began replicating it as best as he could. It was sloppy, so he untied and redid it thrice. Hunk approached, peered over his shoulder, and tightened it up a little. Flashing a small smile to Lance, he was about to comment on his work and how well done the knot was before someone else scolded them for their ‘laziness’.

Sighing again, Lance stood. He had no chance of getting a break today. Hunk made some comment back to the man that evoked a laugh, but Lance wasn’t paying any attention. What was the point in this? Everyone else seemed so close and he was so different. His clothes, clean; his mannerisms, stiff and polite; everything about him was wrong for this environment.

When the conversation was over, Lance stood and tugged Hunk’s sleeve. The man was slightly shorter than him, which felt unnatural. He was rounder and more muscular, though he also had a fair amount of fat on him. Lance, tall and lanky with a skinny frame, felt like he didn’t belong here. He’d not survive a minute in any form of combat at this rate. When the male finally turned, Lance spoke up.  
“I must know more than to tie knots. I only want to survive, Hunk.” His voice was a hushed plea, his eyes showing desperation and vulnerability that was idiotic to display so soon. Correction: It was idiotic to display vulnerability at all. “Show me how to do what I need to do to stay alive,” he added quietly, glancing down. With his gaze downcast, he could avoid eye contact. That way, he’d not know how he was being judged or what the response was.

Surprisingly, though, he soon had one hand in his hair, ruffling it as some friendly affection. He looked up, blue eyes wide with surprise. Hunk smiled as warmly as though he were a friend. He seemed naturally appealing, which was odd on a ship. Was he genuinely kind? Or was this some sick ploy? Lance, despite his racing thoughts, smiled in return and mumbled a soft thanks. The shorter male pulled his hand back, starting upstairs. Assuming he should follow, Lance hung around his heels. Life would be easier with a good friend like Hunk around.

 

There were others to supervise the room, and so Lance didn’t feel too anxious about leaving the room. Checking behind him to make sure the brunet was still following him, Hunk removed a chain from around his neck. On the end was a dirty silver key that was clean at the ends, where Hunk’s usually greasy hands would hold it and manoeuvre it to unlock whichever door it led to and where it worked with the locking mechanism.  
Hunk stopped suddenly and Lance only barely managed to avoid walking into him, embarrassed despite how he had avoided the humiliation of it. His eyes flickered to the sign above the door.  
Armoury…? He’d not heard of that word before and he didn’t want to ask what it meant. He’d likely find out in a second regardless, so checking was irrelevant. Another strand of hair fell into his face and he pushed it away. He was long overdue a haircut. He’d been meaning to get one while he was at home but his schedule had been so strict that he’d not gotten the chance.

Hunk heard the lock click and pushed the door open with his arm, holding it in place for Lance to join him. The male hesitantly stepped inside. There were weapons all across the walls and stolen goods littered around.  
“Una armería,” he murmured to himself. /That/ was what armoury meant. Hunk turned to him, gesturing to the room around the two of them. “The armoury is where we keep all of our swords stocked when we aren’t practicing or involved in fights. The only keys for it are given to Keith and I, but only because he has too many trust issues to leave it unlocked.” He let out a breath. “I’m often tasked with cleaning the swords. There are usually more important things to do than to keep them rust-free and hygienic, so everyone focuses on makeshift repairs while we find somewhere to dock. Green and I clean.”

Lance just nodded, admiring the weaponry. There were guns littered around, accompanied with swords and racks of marlin spikes to replace any that were broken. It was decorated heavily, chests filled with gold and jewels and riches beyond his imagination. If only he had that kind of money. He’d not have to work and he could have gotten himself a ship so long ago. Then he’d not be where he was now. What an amusing concept- he doubted he’d return to sea after this ordeal.

He soon realised that Hunk was talking and decided to listen, sitting down on a crate by the door as he watched him. Admittedly, he wasn’t focusing on his words too easily, but the chattiness was a good way to distract himself from any thoughts that could cross his mind. He’d really rather not deal with any of his own selfish emotions. Not for a long time, anyway. Not until he was somewhere safe enough for him to be emotional without judgement.  
How pathetic was that? Refusing to think for himself solely due to the potential consequences emotions could bring.

 

The pirate (Lance was aware that he was soon to be a part of the crew, but that didn’t stop him from subconsciously alienating himself from the others aboard) began talking him through the safety procedures of cleaning the knives with the rags and how to do it properly to reduce the chances of injury. Nodding mindlessly along, Lance allowed Hunk to talk for as long as possible. All of the swords were cleaned so he wouldn’t need this knowledge now, and he could always just ask for a reminder if he were tasked to help Hunk with the cleaning.

Hunk was casually confident. Something about him was so comforting, and it was good that Lance had someone aboard the ship that he could put his faith in to keep him safe. He felt relaxed around him, not needing to be as tense as he was with those elsewhere aboard the ship. Lance only listened for the part on how to wield the sword while cleaning it, and he only paid attention because Hunk claimed to have cleaned up after too many people. Lance didn’t want to be inconvenient like that.

An interruption stopped them. The conversation was brought quickly to a close when someone knocked on the door, and Hunk was the one who opened it. Leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to block it off, Hunk looked at whoever had just entered. A short person with scruffy, dirty-blond hair pushed past him to drop a broken spike down on a pile of them. Poor haircuts just seemed to be a popular choice aboard the ship, Lance thought to himself, and a smile played along his lips. Watching the boy passed, Lance realised how short he truly was.  
He seemed no older than fifteen, though that had to be untrue. Someone that young couldn’t be here, could they? Much less as someone other than a cabin boy. His clothes weren’t excessively scruffy, which gave Lance reason to believe that he wasn’t as poorly ranked as a cabin boy.

Oddly, the male reminded him of his younger brother, Luis, who was only around two years behind but had a much better job than Lance. Ah, the family bias. It was his /favourite part/ of his father being his boss. He found himself smiling as he thought of it. He’d never expected to be smiling when he thought of his younger brother getting the higher pay for less hours, sleeping in and missing hours and not even needing to apologise.  
It was something he envied, but he wasn’t one to complain. He somewhat wished he had. Getting home, that’d what he’d do- complain about every issue he’d ever had with those he was related to.

 

His thoughts disturbed by a gentle nudge to his shoulder, Lance’s widened eyes snapped onto Hunk, who was smiling gently at him until Lance apologised. It was an impulse thing. He was too used to being scolded for his wandering mind and consistent daydreaming, so being nudged as he was lost in thought wasn’t unfamiliar and it was now simply instinctive to be sorry for not paying attention. Hunk, despite seeming confused by the apology, realised that it would be best to move on.

Lance gnawed on his lip a little. He was sticking out badly now. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the docks where he worked, where he never stuck out unless he collapsed or began showing symptoms of a deathly illness. He never thought he’d see the day that he missed those working days, yet all it took was half a day away from it all. Odd.


	5. Meeting 'Green'.

The dark-haired male, leant against a box, gestured towards the short brunet beside him. Despite the darkness of the armoury, which only had two windows, the Cuban boy could see almost every feature this boy had. His face, short and round, was splattered with patchy freckles and spots of redness from exposure to the sun. His messy hair lay in matted clumps below his ears, seeming to fluff outward and giving his hair a puffy or messy appearance. Bangs hung over his forehead, loose and unkempt. Lance subconsciously wondered whether or not people here even knew how to comb their hair.

Dark bags were under the boy's deep brown eyes which shined golden like honey where they caught the light from one of the portholes, his sleek and long eyebrows were only slightly darker than the hair on his head. Neither of them said anything for a few moments while the brunet pushed his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

The odd thing about the silence was that it wasn't tense, as Lance would have expected it to be. Awkward, yes, but not tense. They all seemed to be quite casual or carefree around each other. One hand extended to Lance, the boy finally broke the silence.

"Pidge Gunderson. Nickname's Green," he greeted with a small grin, showing symmetrical dimples on each cheek. Nodding, Lance grasped and shook the male's hand. They were rough and his grip was surprisingly firm.

"How old are you?" He questioned before he could stop himself. The correct response was to give his own name, but evidently he'd fucked that up. Pulling his hand back, Green laughed.

"Seventeen, hardly young as I look." Eyes widening, Lance seemed taken aback, which only confused the two beside him. "What- What do you mean, seventeen? You're kidding, right?" His little sister, Veronica, was seventeen and he couldn't bear to imagine her somewhere like here. Luis was just turned eighteen and already a part of the trading company. Lance would only hope that they'd not cross paths.

Green suddenly frowned, folding his arms over his chest. His brows furrowed as he looked up at Lance.

"'Scuse me? First ya don't even tell me yer name n' now yer accusin' me of lyin'?" He questioned, seeming irked by the conversation despite how it'd only lasted a few comments. Feeling his face heat up with indignation, Lance spoke.

"Shit, right, sorry," he muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing downwards anxiously. "Lance. Nicknamed Blue, and I didn't mean anything rude by it. I swear!"

For a few moments, Green seemed to keep the stern gaze on his face, before his face split into a grin and he burst into laughter. "No need to worry yer little head too much, Blue! As long as ye don't underestimate me, we'll get along well! After all, I was the one what knocked you out!" He announced proudly. Subconsciously reaching up to brush his fingers over the bruise, Lance glanced to Green's shockingly muscular arms.

Not only was he incredibly muscular at such a young age, but his build was so feminine it was surprising he was welcomed. Green's pride only seemed to grow and he puffed out his chest proudly. "Bruisin' should be gone in only a couple er days, Blue! You'll be ship-shape in no time." Hunk and Green seemed to share a giddy moment in response to the poor humoured pun.

It was only a matter of moments before the weak conversation finally died and Hunk, happy that the two of them were getting along well, nudged Pidge again. The differences between the two of them were striking, though they were both quite clearly close friends.

"We'd love fer yer ta stay n' chat, Green, but Lance may just be on borrowed time. Why'd ya come in here?" He questioned, a warm smile on his lips. His voice was calm and gentle, and though Lance wasn't sure how his siblings would have reacted to being hurried out of a conversation to be gotten rid of, Green didn't seem to mind. In fact, he'd forgotten why he had entered until he'd gotten such a polite reminder.

He nodded a little. "Well I dropped off me spike a moment ago 'cause I broke it n' I need me a new one," he said as he looked at Hunk, his eyes almost pleading.

"Ye'll need to make this one last a li'l longer this time, Green, 'cause I'll get in trouble if we run outta spikes 'cause you can't stop yerself from testing things n' breaking 'em." He grinned a little, reaching down to ruffle Green's hair. Wait, was he supposed to refer to them with their nicknames or real names? He'd stick with the nicknames, they seemed like a smart choice.

"I'll try," chirped an amused Green as he watched Hunk take the spike from the rack and hand it over. Snatching it close before the offer could be revoked, Green called a thanks and scampered out of the room to wherever he was needed to be.

They left the room after only half an hour longer, just while Hunk supervised him and made sure he was cleaning safely or correctly. Once satisfied, they left. The door was locked behind them as they left, approaching another door opposite the armoury without any locks- the cannon room.

The walls of the room were lined with cannons and barrels or boxed filled with countless cannonballs, stacked as high as possible without toppling or compromising the strength of the structure. There were a few stray spikes and a dagger left lying around, along with a pack of cards atop of a crate. Other misplaced items that belonged on upper or lower decks lay abandoned on the room, and the one that caught Lance's attention was a stray satchel, containing valuables. Beside it lay a small ruby, gleaming in the sunlight.

"There aren't many available positions aboard," Hunk began to speak while Lance wandered around, approaching the gem on the side by a porthole. "Ye could always end up a powder monkey durin' combat meanin' that ye'd need ta be able to run gunpowder back n' forth from through there," he gestured to a door at the end of the room, "to whichever cannon needs it. If Cap'n Red accepted anyone as his first mate, then maybe we'd have a better role that I could mould you to fit to. Albeit we'll just have to work with what we've got, it'd 'ave been nice to 'ave some form o' idea of what ye could be." He ran one hand through his hair to push it back, despite having a bandana that kept it out of his face regardless, sighing a little.

Plucking it from off of the side, Lance hastily stuffed the gem back into his pocket. It'd caught his curiosity and he'd only the intentions to examine it, not of theft. All he wished to be able to do was admire or examine it as he pleased before returning it. A simple and harmless act of curiosity. After all, questioning anyone about it could lead to someone lying to get something valuable from him or snitching. He didn't want someone telling Keith that he was stealing, especially when his intentions were only due to curiosity.

Click. The door at the end of the room was unlocked and Hunk pulled the door open, gesturing for Lance to enter. Doing as was requested, the brunet plodded ahead. Barrels were tied together in corners and pressed against walls or stacked, and it was hard to count how many barrels they were. This was such a small room for so much gunpowder.

"Although," Hunk began to speak again and Lance jolted. He'd forgotten the other was there in the moment he'd dropped his guard to examine the room. "If ye took this job, ye'd be demonstratin' responsibility n' ye could put them long legs to work." He gave Lance an encouraging, playful shove, and he laughed softly in return.

At least one of them was staying positive. Then again, Hunk did live on board, and so he was used to the customs and such. Lance, on the other hand, stuck out like a sheep among wolves, and he felt just as threatened as one.

"Is this not a safety risk?" He questioned, turning back to Hunk. A room full of gunpowder surely wasn't safe. The male raised his shoulders just enough to shrug.

"It's the best place we got. Anywhere else n' the gunpowder would be too far from the cannons. Now- all ya gotta do is make sure you get the barrels labelled for gunpowder, not the tar." He turned to leave and Lance did the same. The door clicked locked behind him and he let out a breath. This was going to be confusing as fuck. Was if he didn't even get either of these jobs? What if he was forced to learn something entirely new and he couldn't enlist the help of Hunk.

Not only were his anxieties about home beginning to act up, but his mind continued to drift around and linger on family. Did his family miss him? Either answer filled his stomach with sickly dread.

If not, then had they noticed he'd even left? Did they... did they think he'd run off to misbehave?

If so, then what were they doing? Were there people out looking?

Worrying his family or having them roll their eyes at his disappearance. He wasn't sure which option he preferred.


	6. Settling In a Little.

Lance forced himself to stop thinking about that. He didn't want homesickness right now. That could be saved for when people wouldn't see him crying. He lifted his gaze from the floor and dragged it to Hunk, realising that the larger male had been talking the whole time.

"Sorry," He interrupted, getting a slightly confused frown from the other as he almost dropped his gaze, feeling anxious."I-I wasn't listening. Could you repeat that, please?" He asked, his voice breaking halfway through his sentence. He tilted his head subconsciously as he spoke, a little thing he did when asked questions, but he quickly started feeling guilty for not listening and dropped his gaze, 

 

Hunk's strangely soft voice made him look up again, the other being weirdly nice to him-- especially for someone whose only been here for half a day and could only live another half day. "Don't worry. This is a lot to process in one day. I get that there'll be a lot on your mind but you're going to be okay. I know because I see how hard you try, and I'm sure that you if you latch into whatever's keeping you focused, you'll stay long enough to see whatever that is again." He said, placing one hand on Lances shoulder comfortingly and smiling at him.

 

The brunet met his eyes, giving Hunk a genuine smile, having needed to hear that more than he'd expected himself to.  
"Th-Thanks, Hunk. Please keep helping me and telling me whatever you know." He said, and this time the big man noticed how determined and how desperate he was to stay. Pity and sympathy directed towards the boy rushed through Hunk and gave him a sense of entitlement. He was determined to keep this kid alive until he got home again.  
"Alright." He nodded, leading Lance to a different set of stairs and slowly down to the lower deck. "I'll start by showing you what and where everything is."

 

Lance followed behind him quickly, staying close and constantly glancing around as a paranoid habit, not sure whether he was going to be knocked down from behind and beaten up or not. God, he hoped not. He watched at the black haired male stopped at the bottom of the stairs, not quite standing on the floor of the bilge to avoid the muck and disgusting water that was there. As the brunet looked around, he noticed the silhouette of a man at the far side of the room, having been giving the boring job of bilge rat, but it was only a moment before Hunk explained it wasn't his job or a choice, and that since their last bilge rat died of an infection, they were still trying to find a new one. He really hoped that wouldn't be him.

 

Hunk noticed this nervousness and realised what the brunet must have been thinking, giving him a warm smile and making a light-hearted joke about how Lance wouldn't be able to work the bilge with arms as scrawny as his, and didn't notice how forced the laugh he got for that was, smiling back. Lance glanced back and noticed the person - despite how little light there was for him to see this character - was staring at him, and instantly looked down while an embarrassed blush quickly rose to his cheeks. Hunk led the tall brunet to the next deck, and despite his clear hatred and how much he wanted to be off this damn vessel, he had to admit that the interior was just as elegant and admirably designed as the exterior - well, the crews quarters were nothing any more special than expected, but the paint job was professionally done and barely chipped, golden lining on the scarlet paint giving it a sense of fanciness that it likely didn't deserve.

 

 

He focused back on Hunk after a moment of looking around, his head at a slight angle again as he spoke. "And the crews quarters are directly above the bilge?" He asked, his admiration being replaced with concern for the sanitation of the place, despite how low hygiene was nothing but expected on a ship, especially one belonging to pirates, he expected anything but the crews quarters to be above the bilge, of all places. 'I just hope I don't see any rats.' He thought to himself, but a scratchy scurrying somewhere the other side of the quarters crushed all hope of that and he shivered, banishing all thoughts of rodents instantly, forcing himself not to pay attention to the smell of the bilge from directly beneath them, either.

 

"I don't want them to be, either, but they have to be. The cannons need to be in not only the easiest place for us to access, but also in such a position that they can sink the opposing ship or attack any docks with as much convenience as possible." He explained, turning to the right and starting down the middle of the room, avoiding things on the floor and hanging pieces of rope as best as he could, before stopping and pointing at a hammock that looked no different to any of the others.

"This is mine. The one to the right is Pidge's and after yesterday, this one's is free!" He said cheerfully, gesturing to the hammock on the left of his and smiling. "You can take that one." He added, watching as Lance nodded to him, not expecting anything else - only getting a small smile from the brunet who clearly appreciated the gesture - before turning and continuing forwards.

 

Hunk led them back up to the clean upper deck, the soft smile still on Lances face until a certain voice called his nickname and he tensed, his face immediately going slack and his face expressionless. He'd only heard this voice for the first time a short while back but he had quickly grown to hate it. The smooth pronunciation of the words Lance could only barely say slid off the other's tongue disgusted him. The gorgeous face of the man was even worse. He sighed as he turned to face the captain.


	7. An Argument Arises.

"Blue!" The harsh voice pierced the air and Lance instantly tensed, feeling his throat tighten but not allowing himself to get overwhelmed by the fear that seized him, instead taking a deep breath as he turned. Instantly, Lance came face to face with none other than the captain himself- Captain Red, as he'd requested to be called. Fucking hell.

"Have you found something you're useful at, yet?" He asked, despite how the answer was obviously 'no' and judging by Keith's every little change in tone while he spoke, added to his confident yet arrogant demeanour - still as intimidating as always - showed Lance that the black haired male knew what the answer was. It was like he was only asking in the first place to humiliate the brunet, and Lance knew that.

 

The brunet didn't risk even the slightest hesitation, not wanting to give the captain a reason to think any more highly of himself. From the looks of things, this man was too fond of himself, and was way too self-assured for Lance's taste.

"Actually," He began, his demeanour and voice containing the confidence of the captain himself. "I have." He said, leaning forwards and taking a half-step closer, something in his tone and attitude challenging, but in such a way that the look in Keith's eye seemed to become a little colder. Instead of letting it show, though, he cocked an eyebrow and let a small smirk curl onto his lips.

 

"Oh? Is that so?" He questioned, his confident demeanour suddenly so much more challenging and smug than Lance could tolerate, something about this man was just pissing him off to the point where all he wanted to do was punch him. Thankfully, he was in control of his impulses enough to avoid doing that. 'Don't fight wars you can't win', he thought, but something in his mind seemed to decide that arguments were excluded in that.

"Yes, Captain, is it!" He snapped, anger pushing out not only the fear that this man invoked but all rational thought, as well. Keith only smirked, taking a step away and turning to address the onlookers, almost all of those on the upper deck having been attracted to the sudden attention the new kid brought onto himself.

 

Keith turned back to Lance, grabbing his collar and harshly tugging him closer, a twisted smirk growing on his lips at the fear in the weaker males eyes as he realised how dumb of an idea it was to be so damn argumentative, but now wasn't the time to back down.

"Now we know that you're loud enough to wake the very bowels of this ship, I'm sure you don't want everyone to find out you're a liar." He said, so close that Lance could smell the faint hints of alcohol on his breath, though it was evidently not enough to get this man tipsy. For that he was thankful, as getting into this kind of fight with a drunk captain was not something he wanted. 

 

The brunet looked around as best as he could, blushing in embarrassment as he realised how loud he'd been before his eyes landed on the sympathetic gaze Hunk gave him, but he only lingered on it for a moment before forcing himself to look back into Keith's eyes, glaring at him as best as he could while being undeniably intimidated by the other. He forced a smirk onto his lips as he desperately tried to think of something - anything - he was good enough at on this ship to show the black haired male. Tying knots? That wouldn't be enough- and even if it was, he could only tie four knots (none of which he knew the names of), and it took him at least two minutes to do so.

 

He stammered to say something, unable to think of anything as his brain forced ideas into and out of his mind. Being a bilge rat was out of the question - definitely. As Hunk had said; his arms were too thin anyway. His experiences in defence/offence using swords, as few as they were, were mostly of losses rather than of wins, and that was nothing to be proud of. His navigational skills, on the other hand, with all the nights he'd spent sat by his window, memorising constellations and how to tell which was was north, which south, which east and which west just from the astrological positions, would prove useful. They had to, or he really was as useless as everyone always called him.

 

"What are you good at, then, Blue?" Keith asked, another step of distance being closed between them before Lance, who'd been focused on his thoughts instead of on the other, instinctively took a step back. Laughs and comments were passed around the deck, several insults that he couldn't piece together being scattered around the deck, making his embarrassed blush grow again, darker and spreading across his face like a rash.

"Come on, Lance..." He could hear Hunk from behind him, speaking quietly so others wouldn't hear, and the brunet wasn't sure if that was the others way of telling him to quit, or to keep going.

"What's wrong, Blue? Are you really not good at anything?" Keith asked, grinning a little at the lack of responses he was getting from the brunet. The black haired male knew exactly what to say to get into his head. Lance couldn't help getting so riled up, though- he was so used to being told he was pathetic and useless.

 

"I am!" He snapped, taking two steps forward in a somewhat challenging manner that only made Keith smile. Exactly what he wanted to happen. "I can navigate with the stars!" He said, even louder now as he glared into the other's eyes, clearly hating the way this man acted and spoke to him.

"Oh?" Keith asked, standing still and cocking an eyebrow, still smiling a little at his own small triumph. Knowing that he annoyed this kid was good, and now he had the power he needs to make the other feel like shit at any given time. Perfect. "And if you don't mind telling me, how am I supposed to test that during daylight hours? When there are no stars to navigate from and we have our heading already?" He asked, everything in his tone just smug and challenging enough to irritate Lance further, despite how the embarrassed blush was only growing with each word.

 

 

"Lance, don't worry. Just-" Hunk said quietly behind the tall brunet, but this time as he spoke, Keith heard him. 

"Why shouldn't he worry, Yellow?" He asked, cutting off the larger male and bringing the attention of those who weren't still focused on Lance onto Hunk, who didn't seem either fazed by it or willing to back down. He was apparently quite quick to defend new 'friends', but not enough so to cause a fight. That would only make the situation worse, anyway.

 

Hunk took a step towards Keith in a manner that was entirely passive, mostly to fix the attention further onto himself and save Lance from the intimidating pressure of having these intimidating pirates staring at him.

"He only returned to consciousness a few hours ago. All I've been able to do in that time is show him where most things are, explain how to clean a sword without killing himself, and tie a few knots. Give it a little longer." He said, Lance immediately backing out of the conversation. He was, after all, unable to physically escape with the crew's eyes on him like this, and with the Captains hand suddenly lunging out and grabbing his collar.


	8. Resolving The Issue.

Lance's breath got caught in his throat as he felt the ground suddenly move from beneath him. He stumbled back, one foot catching on the other and stopping him from regaining his balance as he tripped, not having quick enough reflexes to be able to latch onto something and stop himself from collapsing onto the hard wooden floor, a harsh sound of his impact onto the cold deck being like a gunshot in a crowd.

"Convincing someone else to cover for your incompetence?" Keith asked, irritation clear in his tone and anger in his expression.

"I didn't fucking do that!" He snapped, and at this point Hunk had excused himself from the conversation, fully aware of the punishments on this ship and not wanting to experience one for himself. Not again, at least.

 

Lance, on the other hand, not knowing any of the punishments and not caring - what with his current chances of surviving long enough to get a punishment - kept talking, arguing with the captain in such a bitter manner that anyone would think he had Keith on the floor, rather than it being the other way round. If he survived this first day, every little behavioural issue that Keith had provoked would get it's own violent and bloody consequence, each varying in levels of pain and methods. Of course, he regretted speaking in the way he had once the captain opened his mouth, using a much more of a harsh and cruel tone than he'd had merely moments ago.

"Are you even good at anything?!" He shouted, sadness flickering across Lances face for a moment before he looked back up at Keith, speaking even louder this time.

 

"Maybe I'm not!" He yelled back, glaring up at the other from his seat on the floor. "Maybe I don't have a thing! Maybe the only reason I'm still here and haven't thrown myself overboard is because I want to go home and see my family at some point before I die on this damn vessel!" He said, raising his voice further and letting more aggression sneak into his words. Keith stood still opposite him, his fists clenched with anger evident in his eyes and grit teeth.

 

The black haired male delivered a swift and painful kick to Lances waist, making him gasp and softly grunt in pain, anger still dominant on his features as he looked to the Captain.

"I didn't let you live for nothing, got that?! Whatever the hell it is that you think you're doing here, do it right, because if you're incompetent to the point where you can't even be called a cabin boy, or swabbie, I'll enjoy keeping you in my cabin, used for sharpening my knives until you eventually starve or bleed to death." He growled, and the anger quickly died away on Lance's features, being almost immediately replaced with fear as he fought back the tears filling his eyes. He nodded, looking down and refusing to speak, but the captain hadn't finished 'putting Lance in his place', as he'd later phrase it when justifying his actions.

 

Another hard kick in the same place made the brunet yelp in pain and curl up a little, covering the soon-to-be-badly-bruised skin but not looking at the captain, overwhelmed with the emotions he'd been suppressing in the last few hours he'd been conscious and the sudden realisation that if he survived, his life would get more hellish by the day. And yet, that seemed better than disappearing from his family without a word of warning.

"Blue, I managed to get the big man-" He paused and glanced at Hunk, gesturing to him. "To do his work on this ship. Why the hell are you being so goddamn difficult?!" He shouted, slamming his foot down on Lance's stomach before turning and storming off, planning on getting the anger out of his system with a new bottle of rum. 

 

The brunet coughed at the impact to his stomach, curling up and covering his mouth with one hand, trying not to throw up what little he'd managed to have for breakfast. He took slow, shaky breaths and didn't even notice the hot tears streaming down his face at this point, gagging a little. It was a few moments before he wiped his eyes and looked up, seeing Hunk extend one hand to him and slowly taking it, the firm grip of the other holding onto his slightly tear-wetted hand. They both stayed silent, the heavy weight of what had just happened and the sinking feeling of the reality he was subject to set in place, causing any words that Lance could have tried to say in this situation to die in his throat before they even got to his mouth.

 

The others grip was a lot stronger than he'd previously noticed, and as he weakly held back onto the stronger male, he let himself get pulled to his feet and clung onto the other's shirt with his other hand, waiting for his wave of nausea to pass. But, as soon as he started to feel the overwhelming urge to be sick, he detached his hands from the other and ran on shaky, unstable legs to the edge of the boat, leaning over the side and vomiting what little he'd eaten that morning. He threw up all that was in his stomach and stayed there for a long few moments, retching to the point where his throat was dry and sore, his voice definitely going to be hoarse after this and yet he couldn't do anything about it except wait for this moment to pass.

 

He took long, deep breaths once his stomach had settled again and felt Hunks hand gently patting his back in a comforting manner, making him sigh softly as he turned back to him, deciding against speaking for now as he wasn't sure what'd happen to him if he said the wrong thing. He looked up, into his eyes, a look of embarrassment evident on his features while his eyes were red, swollen from the tears that had forced themselves from his eyes upon such harsh impact to his stomach. Hunk had that expression of pity upon his face again and the brunet was starting to think he'd get that a lot if he didn't do anything to change his uselessness on this ship.

 

After all, he didn't want the last thing he saw to be the glinting of blades, the red of his blood, and Hunk looking down at him with sympathy, pity, and regret.


	9. A Resting Period.

Lance took a step forward and immediately felt his legs give out underneath him, gasping and almost letting a small noise of surprise escape his lips as he hit the floor before forcing himself to stay quiet and avoid the potential torment he might get from others. He tried to pull himself up, Hunk holding out one hand to him that he gladly took, noticing the firm grip of the other and feeling suddenly relieved that he had the man as a friend, knowing that there were many people on board - some stronger and some weaker than Hunk, but almost all of them able (and likely willing) to tear him apart the second they got the chance and/or the reason to. He let the stronger male pull him to his feet and sighed, almost falling again but holding onto the others hand with both of his, looking up at him and getting a sympathetic look, as if Hunk knew what it was like.

 

The black haired man was first to speak out of the two of them, evidently attempting to say something comforting but it only made Lance feel a little worse.

"Cap'n Red isn't too bad once you're used to it. This is probably the worst he's acted toward anyone in a long while." He explained, trying to give the other a bit of optimism that after a while he wouldn't feel as rejected, but instead Lance started to wonder if he was being that much of a deadweight to the ship. Nevertheless, he nodded and muttered a thanks to the other for trying to make him feel better, slowly releasing his hand. "I'm alright, now." He said, Hunk nodding and turning, gesturing to the crows nest above them.

"You think you'll be able to make it up there?" He asked, and Lance nodded, determined to still be useful whether it meant straining himself or not. Hunk started walking over to the ladder, but let Lance go up first, spotting Keith leaving his cabin with a newly opened bottle in one hand. "Just get to the top."

 

The brunet didn't need to be told twice, of course, and started up the crows nest, not finding it too difficult until he got a little under half the way up, already feeling his legs aching. He glanced around the deck as he continued to climb, his eyes soon landing on the captain, who was stood at the helm with the bottle to his lips. He brought it away and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes scanning the upper deck and eventually landing on Lance, their gazes meeting for a moment before the brunets hand missed the ladder and he yelped in shock. He almost lost his balance, gripping tightly onto the ladder with his other hand and turning his attention away from the handsome captain, readjusting his grip and starting to climb again. He glanced over at the man again once his grip was adjusted, seeing a smug smirk on the others lips and instantly fixing his attention back onto the ladder once more, huffing irritatedly to himself as he did.

 

-

 

It was several long and painful hours of hard work before Lance got a break, having helped Hunk cook and done a small amount of cleaning in the dining hall. He'd been to the lower deck back to the upper deck various times, meaning his legs were aching badly and the insides of his hands were red-raw from the ladder and the ropes he'd been using constantly throughout the day. He was on the upper deck, having a bandana (of sorts) wrapped around his forehead to keep the sun off, just finishing a hurriedly tied knot when the crew were called through to the dining quarters. He checked the security of the rope before turning and following everyone else inside, Hunk having been the one to prepare the meal and in doing so, leaving Lance outside to do exactly as he was told, when he was told, by near enough anyone. Save, of course, for the people who'd told him to throw himself over the side. He'd save that advice for some other time.

 

He sighed, standing in the queue for whatever food they'd have, too tired to focus on one thing and instead having various brief thoughts burst into his head, only catching his attention for a second before another did the same. He tried to keep his attention on moving in the queue when he needed to and avoiding being hit by other crew members- whether in a teasing, harmless manner or not. He eventually got given his dinner by Hunk, who flashed him a smile that the brunet wearily returned, wandering to an unoccupied section of a bench and sitting as far away from everyone else as he could, slowly picking at his food and letting his aching muscles rest from such a difficult day. He slowly started eating, his stomach growling for more food after almost every mouthful and he quickly found himself with an empty plate, just sitting there in silence and letting his mind wander.

 

The first thought that landed in his mind and settled there, was the thought 'Would I even want to go on a ship again?' It was well known to almost everyone who he'd grown up around that Lance had wanted to be a sailor. It'd always been his goal- something he'd aspired to do was become the captain of a ship, whether a trading boat or otherwise. It was the only thing he'd ever wanted, but now he wasn't sure if he'd ever want to be on a boat again. He'd definitely quit his job at the port - after demanding they fence off the abandoned docks - but what then? What else would he want to be? Would he even live long enough to need to worry about this...? He forced himself to stop thinking about that, though, as the last thing he wanted to think of was what his life would become after he got off this godforsaken boat, if he got off of this godforsaken boat.

 

He was snapped from his thoughts by someone sitting next to him, turning his attention to Hunk and muttering a greeting, the larger male gladly returning it with a smile. "You still hungry?" He asked afterward, gesturing to his plate- filled with what wouldn't last another day and hadn't been served yet (save for the captains portion, which was a little larger than most peoples and had been left out for the man). Lance almost shook his head but his stomach answered that for him, a loud growl making Lance blush in embarrassment and nod sheepishly, Hunk giving him some of what was on his plate.

"If you want more, help yourself." He said, Pidge speaking up from next to Hunk, having been hidden from sight due how short and thin he was.

"I always do." He said with a small grin, starting to eat what was on his plate, Hunk having started doing the same and Lance slowly starting to eat again.

 

The brunet almost spoke up, but immediately let his words die on his tongue as the door was slammed open, a very irritated and a very drunk captain storming inside. Luckily for Lance, the only space between people in the entire room that was big enough for the captain, was directly next to him. Just what he needed.


	10. Assigned A Role.

Lance looked nervously at Hunk, who hadn't yet noticed the lack of seats in the room, and he couldn't even see Pidge well enough to give a signal for help or to ask to sit where he was, instead of directly next to where the captain would be sat. Maybe Keith would go to his cabin to eat? Maybe he would be ignored for a little longer? Unluckily- as it seemed to be a recurring thing over the last few days- the world just wasn't in his favour, and instead he was left to be sat awkwardly next to the captain. Keith didn't seem too bothered by it, his plate clattering onto the table as he sat down, a half-empty bottle soon being on the table as well. He shuffled away and as close to Hunk as he could without sitting on him, the tension in the room so high he felt like he was choking- but he seemed to be the only one to notice it.

 

A sudden rush of nausea sent the overwhelming urge to be sick washing over him, but whether it was due to the tension or his own mind trying to give him a reason to leave, he wasn't sure. He started to stand, leaving his mostly empty plate and moved away from the bench, hearing Hunk call after him and even a slightly slurred threat about what would happen to him if he didn't go back, and yet he didn't even glance behind him at the captain, pushing open the door and leaving as quickly as he could, his footsteps heavy and quick on the wooden floor. He heard the creaky door swing shut behind him and sighed as he leant over the railing, trying to keep in what he'd eaten despite how he was so sick his head was spinning.

 

"Damn this ship! Damn it to hell, with everyone on it!" He shouted, slamming his fist down on the railing, gripping onto it with his other hand and closing his eyes, the nausea slowly passing as his stomach settled. A small laugh came from behind him and he turned, seeing Keith leant against the wall of the dining hall, still a little more than tipsy (and a little more than just drunk), but looking remarkably serious compared to most other drunkards he'd seen. Keith took a few surprisingly steady steps toward the brunet, who decided it'd be better to meet him halfway than wait several long moments for the captain to finally reach him. He stopped in front of Keith, who glared down at Lance - only able to do this due to the heels on his expensive (another word to describe them is 'stolen') shoes.

 

The brunet stayed silent, not wanting to irritate the other, even though his nose crinkled in disgust at the strong stench of alcohol on the captain's breath.

"Damn us to hell?" Keith echoes, watching the brunet hesitate to do anything for a moment, but cutting him off as soon as he tried to speak. "That's a small bit melodramatic. We don't need you damning us to hell, we've already got the entirety of the world doing that for no reason other than because of what we do." He said, his words slowly getting more and more full of malice to the point where the captain himself was getting audibly irate at the audacity of the other male. Lance said nothing, though, still not wanting to speak out of turn- which happened to be something he was fairly good at, as being a part of a large family had taught him to keep quiet unless he was needed- and let Keith speak up again first.

 

The captain took a half step forward, their faces only around an inch away from each other, to the point where Lance could not only smell the alcohol on the captain's breath get stronger, but he could also feel the hot breaths on his cold skin, causing his face to tingle slightly each time the warmth began to fade and make goosebumps rise on his arms. A few moments of long silence made Lance speak up, his tone entirely neutral and passive - as if to show the man that he meant no harm in what he said, finding it too easy to offend this captain while he was sober, let alone in this state.

"No offence, sir, but is there anything else you wish to tell me, or can I leave?" He asked, about to mention Hunk and Pidge, but being spoken over before he could mention them.

"There's more to tell ya, but go inside. I need the crew ta hear this." He said, slightly slurred on a couple words but nonetheless easy to understand.

 

The brunet sighed as he turned, slowly making his way toward the door of the dining hall and letting out a soft breath of relief as he got away from the captain, small amounts of tension leaving his body as he moved back to his seat, sinking down into it and turning to Hunk, who was currently questioning him like he were a murder suspect. He managed to quieten Hunk down and was about to answer at least one of the many, many questions he asked before the captain ordered silence in the room and all crew members present complied, even if it did take them a few moments to get what could be as close to silence as possible. Keith gestured at Lance and immediately called him over, his voice loud and his tone overly confident. The brunet hadn't known him long enough to be sure if that was just because of the amount of alcohol running through his veins, or whether he'd normally be that obnoxious.

 

He glanced at Hunk and very briefly caught eyes with Pidge, standing up and approaching the captain. He forced himself not to be slow or seem hesitant, making himself appear as confident and as brave as he possibly could at this moment. Keith grabbed his arm, pulling him a little closer and making him stumble, hearing a couple people laugh as him and feeling the confidence die away instantly. 'So much for look brave' He thought to himself, having to force back an eye-roll as that'd only get him in trouble.

"As all o' yer are aware," He began, Lance unable to stop himself from noting that Keith's accent became more noticeable and his words were less coherent when he was drunk. "And as most o' yer are hatin' me fer," He continued, Lance shifting his weight between his feet as he waited for the other to hurry up and get this over with. 

 

The captain paused and took someone's bottle from a nearby table, taking a quick drink before putting it back and throwing them a coin as compensation. "I've given Blue here a chance to prove 'is worth." He said, seeming to finally be prepared to say what he's intended to. "And he seems like he's worth keeping around, so we won't throw him overboard just yet." He paused a laughed at his own humour - a lot funnier now that it would be if he were sober. "And instead he will take the role on this ship as cabin boy during daily tasks, and powder monkey when needed as our last died!"


	11. Blame The Alcohol.

Lance felt his heart drop in his chest like a dead weight. All of that effort, working so hard all day, and all he gets is the role of a cabin boy? He didn't even share a glance with the man he normally looks at for a sense of comfort at times like these, and instead forced on keeping tears out of his eyes, at least until he could leave the dining cabin and go to the crews quarters. He was relieved- he felt a small pinprick of optimism that he'd see his family again at some point- and sighed as his arm was released, making an escape attempt before being dragged back into the hall and pushed forward.

"Have a drink, kid!" Keith's voice came, some tall and muscular man, with unnaturally pasty skin for a sailo- a pirate- grinned as he approached the Cuban boy and held out an unbranded, unnamed bottle of mysterious alcohol to him. He could see from a slight cleaner section of the bottle that a tag had been ripped off so the strength of the drink would be unknown.

 

Lance hesitantly took it, tempted to smell it to see if he could figure out how much he should drink to prevent himself from getting anything but tipsy, but knew that it wouldn't work out for him. He nodded and muttered a thanks as he brought the bottle to his lips, taking in a small sips worth and trying to push it away before someone grabbed Lances hair and kept it pulled back, another hand from the same person keeping his mouth open while the pasty, strong man kept the bottle tilted up and together they forced the alcohol not only into the brunet's mouth but down his throat. He drunk as much as he could, his throat burning at the strength of the alcohol and was only saved from the horrible drink after around fifteen seconds when Hunk stepped in and told them to stop.

 

Lance gripped onto the man as soon as his head was released, hot tears in his eyes at the strength of the alcohol as the burning in his throat slowly subsided. "Th-Thanks, big man." He said in a dry, weak voice, getting a smile from the other.

"You want to get out of here?" He asked, Pidge appearing next to him after a few moments, pushing the round frames of his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose.

"I'd recommend it. It'll not be too long until they bring out the stronger drinks. And if there is anyone that you don't want to see properly drunk, it's Cap'n Red." He piped up and Lance nodded, the rush of adrenaline from the alcohol that was already making its way through his system causing his skin to heat up and a light blush to appear on his cheeks.

"Y-Yeah. Let's go." He said, his words as clear as he could make them as he turned, still holding onto Hunk as he was lead out of the door, putting a little more of his weight on the man than he had moments ago.

 

He briefly tried to force an apology past his lips and tell Hunk that he hadn't had alcohol that strong before, and nothing even slightly similar to an equivalent, but he couldn't quite figure out how exactly to say that and instead kept himself quiet. Hunk held him up with ease, keeping him supported as he led him back to the crews quarters, him and Pidge making conversation that Lance couldn't quite focus on, but he didn't let it bother him too badly. Hunk eventually got to their hammocks and helped Lance into his, receiving a slightly slurred thanks followed by an apology that was just as unclear. Hunk just told Lance not to worry about it and got into his hammock, lying back and sighing as he closed his eyes, the steady rocking of the boat causing the hammocks to sway as they lay there, all three of them in their own hammocks, staying silent.

 

Lance was still awake after the other two had fallen asleep- the sound of others having fun and getting drunk being too loud and obnoxious for him to be able to get any sleep, so instead he just lay there with his eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling, paying attention to every crack and crevice as his mind began to wander, his focus slowly shifting off of how much he'd like to sleep and pulling away from the aching of his muscles as he began to think of what the future would be like for him. He'd survived, so that was one thing to be proud of or relieved by, but what now?

 

Would he just spend his time getting ordered around by people who hated him and getting told to do jobs too difficult for him? Would that happen? No, surely not. He had upper body strength - he was a swimmer, after all - but what would that do for him? It wouldn't help him escape. He couldn't swim faster than a boat, after all. 'Shut up' He thought to himself, not liking where his thoughts were going and feeling hot tears start to fill his eyes, trying to fight them back but being unable to stop the tears from spilling from his eyes. He put one hand into his pocket and pulled out the small red thing he'd taken from one of the cannons a short while back, studying it to himself but deciding he was too tired to figure out what it might be. He shoved it back into his pocket and sighed, forcing all thoughts out of his mind as best as he could.

 

'It's just the alcohol' He decided, sniffling and staying as quiet as he could so he wouldn't disturb the two people either side of him, wiping his eyes and trying to focus on falling asleep- desperately trying to focus on sleeping, rather than any other subjects that might make him cry anymore. He sighed and curled up, lying on his side with closed eyes and sniffling, his breaths slightly shaky as he tried to keep himself as quiet as possible. The last thing he wanted was to wake up Hunk or Pidge with his crying and get them concerned over something that didn't matter. Well- it wouldn't matter to them, anyway.

 

It was around a half hour of Hunk snoring and Pidge breathing lightly next to him before he could fall asleep, welcoming the lack of consciousness eagerly, not wanting to be awake and deal with his own thoughts any longer. Besides- any questions that'd make him anxious today would be answered tomorrow, and the sooner he slept, the less his mind could pester him about the most and the least likely scenarios he could experience.


	12. Nursing A Hangover.

Lance's eyes snapped open, his body drenched in cold sweat as he suddenly sat up, panting softly and feeling tears in his eyes again. A thought occurred that he'd get used to crying, but he pushed it out. What had he dreamt of that was so traumatic it'd woken him up in a state like this? He sighed and slowly got to his feet, wiping some of the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and silently leaving the cabin. Everyone was there now, and the sun was peeking through the windows of the ship, so he could tell that it was morning - early morning - and realised he probably shouldn't be awake at this moment. But he didn't want to sleep- What if another nightmare like that came back?

 

Making his way to the upper deck, Lance sighed and focused on the day ahead of him, wondering what he would have to do in a much more relaxed and passive manner than he had the night before. Thanks to how little alcohol he'd had, though, he only had a small pulsing in the back of his head rather than a full headache, but he was almost entirely sure that the captain and most others on board would be suffering with exactly that. And he didn't mind that they were experiencing it.

 

He sat on deck and sighed to himself, closing his eyes and relaxing a little while the scent of salt water swarmed him. He smiled slightly, the warmth of the sun on his cold, sweaty skin being noticeably relaxing and quite a nice sensation- especially when compared to the stuffiness and humidity of the crews quarters. He sighed softly to himself, almost being asleep again when a loud thud and a curse from nearby made his eyes snap open as he stood up, eyes wide before they landed on the captains cabin and he immediately lost all interest, knowing it was just that Keith had woken up and was not enjoying the hangover he was experiencing.

 

BAM! A loud noise rang through the deck and Lance jumped, falling off of the crate he was sat on out of surprise but quickly getting to his feet. He went to the captains cabin, knocking on the door.

"S-Sorry, sir- Captain- but I was wondering if you needed help?" He called through the door, mentally cursing himself for being so considerate. Oh, the joys that came with being an older brother. It was a few long moments before anything happened on the other side, and Lance had expected the captain to tell him to 'fuck off', or something similar, but instead he heard a couple locks click and the familiar voice told him to come in.

 

Pushing the door open, Lance was incredibly hesitant to step inside. There was always the chance that the captain had mistaken his voice for someone else's, wasn't there?

"Blue. I thought it was you." He muttered, leaning heavily against the desk with one hand to his forehead. That answered his question. Lance let the door swing shut behind him and walked a little further inside, keeping his eyes on the captain purely out of fear of what could happen if he took his eyes off of him. Why had the captain let him in, anyway?

"I assume I told you that you're staying last night?" He asked, and Lance nodded. Was he only brought in here to be assured that the captain had meant it? He felt part of him wash over with relief but forced himself to stay focused on the captain.

 

He took a small step forward, pressing the palm of his hand against the captains hot forehead but being shoved off instantly. He stumbled back and into the door, looked at the handsome, hungover captain with confusion and hints of fear in his eyes.

"What was that for?" He asked, standing up straight and brushing himself off, looking a little pissed off over that. Keith just shot him a glare and stood up straight again.

"I'm fine. I've had worse headaches even without having had alcohol the night before." He said, taking a flask of weak alcohol and having a long drink from it, Lance just standing there awkwardly while his eyes scanned over the captains features. He had to admit it, the man was unnaturally handsome and he found himself blushing. 

 

Lance didn't avert his eyes for even a second as he watched the male pull the flask away and fix on the cap, putting it back on the shelf he'd gotten it from. He made a noise in irritation and turned to Lance, looking suddenly a lot more pissed off than he had been seconds ago.

"What the hell are you staring at?" He asked, a threatening undertone in his voice as he glared at Lance, his eyes fixing on the suddenly surprised expression on the brunet, stormy grey finding ocean blue as they made eye contact. The brunet looked away after a half-second of that, though, blushing darker and shaking his head.

"Nothing, C-Captain, I swear." He said quickly, glancing around the cabin that suddenly seemed a lot more interesting than it had been seconds ago.

 

He'd expected the captain to interrogate him - even if only questioning him once more- but the man didn't, instead turning and gazing at the view from his cabin. He walked around to his desk again, slumping into his chair with a soft sigh, Lance taking the moments of silence to calm himself and remind himself that whatever he was thinking, he shouldn't be. He'd reluctantly come to terms with his sexuality a few years back, so it wasn't the idea that he found another man handsome that plagued him- instead it was the idea that the man he found handsome was a murderer- a pirate.

 

He ignored his thoughts - he was just being honest, after all- and sighed before turning back to the captain.

"Is there any other reason you let me in? Apart from to ensure that you meant what you'd said last night, I mean." He stuttered a little, trying hard not to slip up on his words too badly. The last thing he wanted was more humiliation - especially in front of Captain Kogane, 

"Actually," He began, his eyes fixing themselves on the gorgeous blue iris' of the brunet as he spoke, one hand still resting on his head to soothe the pounding headache he had. "There is."


	13. A Proposal.

Tensing up at the thoughts that suddenly filled his mind, Lance froze, his attention fixed on two things; Keith, and whatever he wanted with him. The atmosphere was tense, but the brunet seemed to be the only one to notice it. The air was so thick with tension that the brunet felt as though he was close to choking, and yet he forced himself to stay as calm as he could.

"Which is? I-I can help with the headache, if you want me to." He suggested, his brain running through almost every possibility under the sun (and some under the water) that had even the slightest chance of happening. The captain rolled his eyes at that, his expression half at boredom and half irritated by Lance's behaviour, so the brunet decided almost immediately that it'd be best if he just kept his mouth shut firmly. He just wanted to find out what he was there for and why he hadn't been dismissed yet. 

 

Honestly, he'd expected to have been tending to a captain while he vomited and complained about a headache- not to be getting an irritated glare from someone who'd surprisingly not had as much to drink as... as whatever his usual intake was. Hell, if there was anything Lance didn't want, it was to see this man after however much alcohol he normally drank. Silence hung over them like a blanket and the tension was like an elephant in the small cabin- of course, being an elephant that only Lance could see.

 

"How are you at sword fighting?" Kogane's voice broke the tension in the room, the heavy silence only being gone for a few moments while he spoke before Lance hesitated, not sure exactly what to say in response. The small hesitation was weighted in the air around them, but he spoke up before the air could become tense again with the awkward atmosphere.

"I-I can't say I'm... any good at it, Si- Captain Red." He said simply, his stutter and tone making it more obvious that he'd have liked that he was uncomfortable and undeniably anxious.

 

Lance hoped with almost every part of his being that Keith would leave it there and he'd be left unimportant in the fighting aspect of things. He was more than content with being powder monkey- so much as if meant he had no need to pick up a sword and take someone on in hand-to-hand combat. And yet, that hope was quickly abolished as the captain spoke up again, a playful and confident smirk upon his lips.

"Alright then, Blue, you n' me are goin' to practice sword fighting once I've gotten this bleedin' headache to pass some." 

 

Immediately, the brunet opened his mouth to object but no sooner than he'd done so did the captain interrupt, speaking in a cold and blunt tone.

"And no arguments about it." He stated, growling slightly as he spoke and watching as the other quickly nodded, hiding his hands behind his back- likely to hide how much they were shaking. Eventually, the brunet got up the courage to speak up again, his voice shaky.

"A-Am I dismissed then, sir?" He asked, being visibly relieved when the captain ignored (Either that or he didn't notice) the stutter in Lance's voice as he began speaking.

 

There was a moment of silence before Keith nodded and parted his lips, his eyes landing on the brunet once more as he spoke up.

"Bring me my flask and you have permission to leave." He said, gesturing to a shelf beside Lance where a silver flask lay, the cap screwed on tightly and clearly having been done so to keep whatever was in there- likely either incredibly weak alcohol or something weak enough to be called water- inside. He took it in one hand, finding it a little heavier than he'd expected and a lot colder, paying attention to such detail like it actually mattered to him. He handed it to the captain, who took off the cap with smooth ease and brought it to his lips.

 

The brunet didn't linger long enough to stare as the captain drank, being gone from the cabin within seconds and leaning against the wooden door for a few long moments to recollect himself. His headache had almost entirely subsided, he noticed, and that made him smile a little. He took a deep breath of the cold, salty air and took a couple of slow and paced steps forward, having not heard anything from inside the cabin to give him a reason to go back. Thank fuck.

 

Resuming his attention entirely to the ocean and reclaiming his seat on a crate by the railing, Lance let a soft breath slip past his lips as a gentle sigh. His head resting on one hand, he stared out at the overlapping, fighting waves, slowly and subconsciously letting his eyelids begin drooping shut, as the rude awakening that he'd gotten from the nightmare was beginning to take effect, and it became suddenly clear that he'd not had as much sleep as he'd have liked. Not to mention that that was likely the longest sleep he'd had in almost a full month, and yet it still felt too short and he was still remarkably exhausted.

 

Before he could accidentally doze off and allow the sleep he'd been lacking return to him, though, the wooden door to the crews quarters slammed open so violently that it wouldn't have been much of a surprise to him if it's swung off of it's creaky metal hinges entirely. Lance's eyes suddenly snapped open at the harsh sound and he sat up immediately, his tiredness seemingly fading at the harsh noise as he turned, watching someone - he recognised him as the man from yesterday evening, who'd been holding the bottle of the alcohol that was forced down his throat - stumble clumsily and hapharzadly in his direction. 

 

He watched the hands that had held the bottle out to him last night as they gripped onto the railing, and he looked away just in time to save himself from watching someone vomit all that they'd eaten, or drank and that hadn't left their system yet. He stayed silent, not even speaking up to ask if he was okay as he honestly felt no sympathy for the older male. He found that strange though- only moments ago he'd put himself at risk by going to the belly of the beast, going to Keith's cabin directly and without being asked, just so he could try and help with a hangover. He tried shaking off the thought, pushing it out of his mind and focusing back on something else, but the thought wouldn't leave him.

 

Why did he care for the captain but not another crewmember?


	14. A Little Socialising.

The thought only plagued him for a few more moments before his attention was caught by the heavily dislikable male beside him- someone he didn't like but didn't even know the name of. "You got much of an 'eadache, Blue?" He asked, delving into a conversation that Lance neither expected nor wanted to get involved in. He shook his head after a moment and turned his attention to the other, clearly not wanting to be around him much longer.

"N-Not me, no. I excused myself before I could drink too much." He explained in a quiet voice, hoping the shakiness in his voice wasn't too obvious. Hell, he wasn't even sure that this male remembered what he'd done, but he really hoped he did. He was clearly reluctant to have acknowledged this man in the first place, let alone to have had to respond to him.

 

The males head dipped a little as gave half a nod, before suddenly leaning forward and letting alcohol-flavoured bile rise from his stomach and escaped his lips. Lance turned his attention away from the stranger - he had no interest in his name - and sighed, not wanting to be around him now and definitely not wanting to be near him if he had any alcohol. He slipped away while the male was throwing up and cursing, soon finding himself back at his hammock and seeing that Pidge had only just woken up Hunk. 

 

Lance watched the man sit up, staying silent as he didn't want to draw any attention to himself, whether it was from people he felt he could trust or not. He diverted his focus onto the ground as the male changed his shirt, though, deciding it was the best place to keep his gaze when he noticed that almost every other person in the room who was awake and/or out of bed was in a state of undress. The last thing he needed was to end up having his gaze linger for a second too long, as he was sure that it'd not end too well for him. 

 

Hunk got his attention after a few long moments of keeping his eyes averted, and Lance looked up at the man with a slightly tilted head, staying silent to give Hunk the chance to speak first.

"You alright, Blue?" Hunk asked, only using the nickname while everyone else was around.

"Yeah, just... thinking about the captain, 's all." He murmured, his eyes on Hunks as if to derive a sense of comfort from him- something he'd been doing from Hunk since the first time they met eyes.

 

"Aye. Mind being privy?" He asked, cocking his head to the side slightly, as if he expected Lance to have another reason that he seemed to have no choice but to share with the larger male. The brunet sighed a little, recognising Hunk as the kind of person who was either trusted with this stuff by whoever he was asking, or would find out on his own eventually, and deciding that it would be easier just to tell him now. Besides, it's not like the sword fight was meant to be kept secret- he just didn't want people starting to joke about it to and around him, as he really disliked the idea of people telling him how he'd end up once he lost.

 

Lance took a breath as he looked up at Hunk, shifting his weight between his feet in an awkward manner. "He's ordered a 'duel', of sorts, between us. Due sometime later today, but I wouldn't say I'm exactly... experienced, or in any way skilled with a sword." He said, laughing a little as if to make it seem funnier than the situation actually was. Besides, he didn't want to show that he was actually terrified of it because he didn't know how skilled the captain was but he did know that he was not skilled, at all. 

 

Hunk nodded, tying an orange bandana around his head- something Lance didn't pay attention to the day before- his eyes lingering on Lance's for a few moments before he glanced back at Pidge.

"Good luck in regards to that, then, should I be unable to watch." He said, and although there wasn't even a hint of malice in his tone, Lance seemed to take it like it was a warning rather than as a genuine thing.

 

Pidge had just pulled on a shirt, taking hold of his glasses and putting them back on, then approaching them both and focusing his attention onto Lance.

"Should he be sober for it?" He asked, and although it may have just been the brunet's imagination, he could have sworn that Pidge had asked like it was something his life depended on.

"I believe so." He nodded, but before any of them could get one more word in, a voice- he recognised it as that of the man earlier- commanded everyone onto the upper deck, were they dressed decently enough.

 

Lance didn't wait for the others to walk alongside him despite wanting to, as he knew that while he wasn't everyone's favourite - being anyone's favourite would surprise him, honestly - he had no excuses for lingering around out of sight. Besides, he was sure Keith still had plenty of time to change his mind about either Lance staying alive, or Lance staying out of the bilge (whether to pump it or to... 'sharpen blades', as the captain had gently described cutting him.)

 

He made his way to the upper deck, seeing it was noticeably sunnier than it had been when he was sat up there alone, and let the gentle ghost of a smile onto his lips. He wasn't as stressed as he'd been the day before, so he let this sink in as much as his own mind would allow. Despite how this happened and the dishonest means of it all, Lance was relieved- glad, even. This was what he'd wanted to be since before he could remember (admittedly, the 'pirate' bit he wasn't a fan of, but that wasn't hard to figure out), but before he could spend too long dwelling on it, someone called out "Cabin boy!" And his day began.


	15. Menial Tasks.

He turned toward the voice, heading towards someone he recognised but didn't remember and having a bent marlin spike dropped into his hands, instantly being ordered- he hated being ordered around- to go get another from the armoury. He'd only just gotten out into the sunlight for the day and immediately had to go down to a lower deck. He hated that. He didn't want to leave the salty air and the small spray of the waves yet. Why couldn't his first hour of tasks just be transferring messages from one person to another on the upper deck? Not that he was allowed to complain, anyway.

 

He nodded and turned, going down through to the dining hall and knowing that to get to the armoury, he'd have to go to Hunk and ask for the key to it. He went through to the kitchens as quickly as he could to make this as convenient as possible for him. There was no way in hell he was going to take too long, whether it meant having to stop Hunk from dragging him into a conversation or not. He wasn't sure if he could afford to make a mistake like that- not when his position on board would be so easily compromised.

 

He replaced the spike after almost ten minutes, having to repeat that same chore twice before Hunk gave Lance the key - 'trusting him heavily', he'd said. The male sighed softly, having only been doing his job for a few hours- looking up he could see it was just past noon- and he was already getting tired. His legs burned from having to run to relay important messages and walk whenever he wasn't running. All thoughts of the upcoming duel had escaped him at some point that day as his mind was occupied with brief descriptions of whoever had asked him for something and what they'd asked for. 

 

Of course, it's not like anyone really respected him for being only a cabin boy. Some people asked for things they genuinely needed but a group of them had asked him to get specific flasks of rum, then changed the design of the flasks every time he came up with the ones described. That was irritating, but he'd just sighed and dealt with it. He'd only just gotten a break to sit back and relax, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the sunlight hit his face as he sighed. Fuck, it felt good to finally be able to relax again.

 

And yet, almost as soon as he'd relaxed- and before anyone else could call for him- the captain's cabin was slammed open (Lance wasn't sure whether it was an accident or not) and Keith strolled out. Unlike yesterday, when the captain had been wearing a loose fitting and slightly unbuttoned white shirt with dark grey/faded black pants, Red looked expensive and, if the brunet was entirely honest, remarkably attractive. For starters, that stupid mullet was tied up to stay out of his face, so it looked like he'd actually heard of combing his hair at some point in his life. 

 

His shirt was, again, loosely unbuttoned but this time it was clean and tucked into the faded black pants that Lance could tell were the same ones as he'd worn yesterday. His coat was by far the most ornate and elaborate thing that Lance had seen so far- a deep scarlet, lined with golden thread and stitched with black. The buttons were black and sewn in place with gold, the fabric loose on his shoulders but not so much along his arms, as if his shoulders weren't broad enough but his arms were more built for the shape. 

 

Keith strode out, the cork heels on his brown, leather shoes clacking against the desk as Lance seemed to suddenly remember about the sword fight the captain had demanded they do, although that was most likely due to his eyes landing on the hilt of a longsword that was tucked under the lavish coat. He glanced down at the black hilt, seeing it had a small red... thing at the end - he assumed it was a jewel - with the same mark on it as Lance had found on the other small red gemstone that had been by the cannons. He wasn't going to check, though, as he was sure that he'd be badly beaten if he were caught with something he'd stolen from another room out of nothing but his own curiosity.

 

He noticed Keith stop and saw those grey, storm cloud eyes scan across the desk and he let a gentle, incredibly quiet curse slip from his lips as a mutter upon seeing those sharp eyes land on him, rather than just continuing to look past him. Hell, he could almost see Keith's smirk before it even appeared on his lips, standing and brushing himself off to rid his clothes of any dust or dirt that may have gotten on him for any reason. He noticed the Captain approaching with calm, casual steps at a slightly slower pace than the brunet liked and decided he'd save time, beginning to walk towards Keith to meet him halfway- just hoping that his actions wouldn't be seen as challenging. That wouldn't end well for him.

 

He stopped a few paces away from Keith, who continued forward until they were only a few inches apart and Lance could feel the heat of his breath and the warmth of his body from under the extra, unnecessary layer. Hell, Lance was hot with only one layer on- he wondered how long it would be before Keith left the coat behind because he didn't want to let sweat - or blood, dependant on how the swordfight went - ruin his fancy and obviously expensive coat.

 

There were a few moments of tension and silence before Lance spoke up, not sure how much longer he'd have been able to tolerate standing that close to Keith with that much tension and slight awkwardness without one of them speaking up.

"Am I permitted to get m'self a sword, Captain, or should I use my hands instead?" He asked, watching as the smirk on the lips of the other curled into a small, amused smile. The males head dipped a little and he smiled a little more before looking up at Lance- his action almost a nod but a little too slow for that.

"Aye, but only if you think ye need it," he said in a simple, evidently somewhat smug tone, gesturing for Lance to walk ahead and watching as he quite gladly did.


	16. The Duel.

'Is Lance trying to take as long as he possibly can to pick out a sword?' Keith thought to himself, his eyes following the brunet as he checked every aspect of every sword he felt. He watched him admire it, his eyes running along the blade, checking the strength and the cleanliness and such. Keith watched as the Cuban male plucked a new, clean sword from the shelf and tested the balance in one hand, then checking the other hand and starting to swing the knife slightly, testing the balance during movement before throwing it from one hand to another, then frowning and putting it back. Fucking hell.

 

Fifteen minutes. It took Lance fifteen minutes before he seemed satisfied that the longsword he found wasn't too unbalanced or awkward to hold or whatever other minimal detail he decided he disliked this time. The captain had been tapping his foot impatiently against the floor since the third sword had been put back, standing by the door- somewhat to guard it so Lance wouldn't leave. He sighed out of relief and mild irritation when the brunet nodded, seeming satisfied with the sword but not seeming to have the faintest idea on not only how to carry it, but how to hold it in general. He kept moving his grip so the blade stuck out at a different, just-as-awkward angle, before trying to carry it over his shoulder for a moment when he thought of how easy it'd be for him to die doing that, and so much more before eventually, he settled on dragging it along the ground lightly and trying not to make a mark on the hardwood.

 

The Cuban held a longsword, the build just as girthy as Keith's but a few inches shorter, as it fit better into Lance's hand and was easier to manoeuvre with. Of course, Keith had made some comment about how the few inches difference was fitting for Lance, speaking in such a manner that Lance's face lit up red and for once in his life, he couldn't think of a flirty and fitting comment to shook back as retaliation. He huffed as he passed Keith, leaving the room without another word and leaving the captain to lock up, as Keith had a key of his own and Lance didn't want Hunk to get in trouble for giving him the key.

 

He was anxious. He couldn't deny it. Keith was impossibly more talented than him and he knew that before he'd even witnessed it, a small whimper of paranoia and the lack of will to get badly hurt escaping his lips as he was pushed forward by the captain, who'd clearly gotten sick of how slow Lance was walking. Those familiar footsteps behind him stopped when they reached the stairs, the Cuban male on the upper deck first, standing by the captain's cabin and watching as he handsome man came up the stairs behind him. They stood around a metre away from the door to the cabin and everyone who'd gathered to watch (due to a lack of imperative duty to attend to) was stood safe, two-three metres back.

 

Lance sighed and watched as Keith raised his sword, slowly and hesitantly trying to mirror his stance, gripping onto the hilt of the sword so tightly his knuckles turned white- but as long as that covered up how much he was shaking, he didn't mind. Keith took a step forward and Lance had to force himself not to take a step back, having remembered only small pieces of advice from his very few lessons. 'Don't lose ground' Was one of Papa McClain's tips when he and his siblings had been fighting with the biggest and most sword-looking sticks they could have found. Real lessons had been a very rare luxury and they'd only done them thrice, but the instructor never let anything sink into Lance's mind, being too boring. Oh, how he wished he'd listened better.

 

He took a half step forward with his forwardmost foot, gripping harder onto the hilt of the sword, were that even possible. The next moment was near a blur-  one moment Keith was nearly two metres away from him, but all in one second, the captain had lunged forward and feinted right, Lance being sloppy to attempt to block the false move before Keith's blade lunged left, instead, making the cabin boy cry out in surprise and clumsily move out of the way, almost tripping over his own feet in the process before regaining his footing and swinging his sword in the general direction of Keith.

 

He watched it catch on the other's longsword for a few moments and needed a second to process that the captain had tried to attack him again, and so that was why their blades had clashed rather than Lance's sword just slicing through thin air. He tried to prevent Keith from pushing his blade away with as much ease as he did, but to no avail, and it was only a moment before Lance tried to pull his blade away and lunge toward Keith, who did nothing but move out of the way and try to trip the brunet up, but he only stumbled before regaining his footing and raising the blade to cut Keith, trying to at least catch something on the blade so he didn't look as disappointing, but he failed once more when the captain turned to look at him- unharmed, and unimpressed.

 

A few cheers- mostly encouragements for the captain to kill him or jeers made at Lance for being so shit at this- were louder than the clashes of metal on metal as Keith lunged forward and the brunet sloppily blocked. Their blades caught as Keith began putting pressure on his angled blade, and so Lance took a half step toward Keith to add more force to his own blade, trying to push the captain's sword away from his own as he had a much weaker grip. He put his other hand on the blade of the sword and took another, half a step, toward the captain, leaving himself entirely defenceless from physical attack and now within range.

 

The punch that struck him was harsh and swift, unexpected yet an obvious move to make. Pain stung and adrenaline rushed through his system as the brunet stumbled backwards, spots of white light bursting across his sight at the surprise of the sudden, incredibly harsh impact. He swung blindly and cut through thin air while his vision returned to him- as if he were only doing it to keep Keith at bay, while there was no real tactic behind his frantic and scared movements. He regained his footing and relaxed after a few moments, his breaths uneven and pain still trying to steal his attention away from the matter at hand. He forced himself to stay focused, only narrowly managing to swing the well-balanced sword into Keith's soon enough and with enough force to keep it away from his stomach.

 

Breath catching in his throat, the brunet cried out in shock as the captain lunged towards him, his sword held firmly in a bandaged wrapped hand- done to prevent the captain's sweaty palms from making the sword slip from his grip or for it to loosen for any reason. By the time Lance had realised that his move was a feint, though, his sword was already out of range for it to block the blow that'd make contact within a few seconds. On impulse, he hit the blade down and away from his stomach, causing it to stab him deeper than it would have on his flat stomach. 

 

Finally, the pain landed as the blade of a longsword buried itself in the cabin boy's upper shin. He cried out in pain, hot tears filling his eyes and clouding his vision but he forced them back, not wanting to cry over a wound that wasn't even that serious. His leg- the unwounded one- gave out under his weight and he collapsed onto the floor, landing on his ass, the blade that had been buried somewhere between one and two inches into his tan skin removing itself as he moved away a little. All in a second, Lance's ears were assaulted by a cacophony of cheers for the captain and belittling jeers made at the injured brunet- not hearing a single person show even the slightest bit of concern for him.

 

It was a mutual, silent agreement that Lance had forfeited from any further fighting-  yes, despite people jokingly telling Keith to 'finish him off'- and the captain carelessly ordered someone to give Hunk the sword to put back in the armoury, the brunet's focus being more on the wound that he was desperately trying to cut off the flow of blood to, rather than the fact that he had Hunk's armoury key around his neck. Hell, it wasn't until Keith tugged it from his neck and walked off that he even remembered that it had been there. He grabbed the torn fabric of his pants and ripped off some of the torn fabric, exposing the painful wound to the sharp, salty ocean air. Hell, his pants were already soaked with globs of crimson blood, large amounts still oozing, beyond his control at this point.


	17. Wounded.

Nobody was concerned enough with the cabin boy to help, so Lance pushed himself against the wall and continued applying pressure to the wound, taking in sharp breaths through his grit teeth as he desperately focused on his wound and trying to stop the bleeding. He removed some string from around his belt and tied it around his shin, just under his knee, and tried to cut off the circulation with that, hoping that it'd work well enough for now until Pidge came over with a small box containing clean-ish bandages and alcohol removed from the rest to be used for cleaning out wounds like his.

 

Lance moaned in pain through clenched teeth as the bottle was opened and the painful, stinging liquid was poured into his open wound- having been warned that it'd hurt but not expecting it to have hurt that much- flushing out any dirt that the sword could have put into his body, but taking what looked like generous amounts of blood with it. Lance almost felt sick at the sight, murmuring a noticeably strained 'thanks' to Pidge.

"You'll need to bandage it yourself because I've still got things to do and it should only need around a week to heal. Try not to put to much pressure on it. Do the bandages tightly." He said, seeming to have covered everything and so he didn't mind when his name was called and he had to run off, someone clearly having fucked something up.

 

Reluctantly, Lance picked up the bandages, cursing under his breath at the pain that came with moving and doing as he was told- quickly and tightly fixing the bandages to his leg and only then noticing how much the bleeding had gone down, feeling somewhat relieved at that. He wrapped the bandages thrice around his freely bleeding would and scruffily tied it up at that back, trying to make it as quick and as convenient as he could, not knowing when people would start calling for him again (But really hoping it wouldn't be for a long while).

 

One hand clinging onto a crate, Lance tried to elevate himself to a standing level, using the crate as some way to distribute weight off of his injured leg. It was only a few moments before Keith came back into sight and walked closer- at first only to walk into his cabin- but upon seeing Lance attempt to make one quick and short step with his bad leg, only to have his leg buckle and for him to immediately collapse with a loud cry of pain that he had clearly tried to hold back, Keith changed his mind about the situation. He had his sword in one hand and had seen all the blood on it from where he'd stabbed Lance too deep, the brunet's wound being a lot deeper than he'd anticipated. Hell, seeing him fight was one thing (a very different and unusual thing), but seeing him fall so dramatically after that? Keith had almost thought it was melodrama, but then reminded himself of the person he had on board and shook off that thought, changing his mind.

 

He briefly entered his cabin after a few moments of walking a little slower, just to see whether Lance had been falsely in pain to avoid any further conflict, and discarded his sword beside the desk, then returning to the injured brunet. Lance looked up at him, their eyes meeting for a few moment and the captain could almost tell how much pain he was in from that alone- just before the brunet cast his gaze downwards once more. The cold sea air caused a shiver to run down Lance's spine, the sun disappearing behind a cloud as if to further prolong his discomfort and coldness.

"I-I'll be fine, Cap'n." He murmured, although he had no confidence behind his words and even he didn't believe himself. 

 

His eyes flickering from the brunet's evidently pained expression to his hurriedly done, blood-stained bandages and back, Keith sighed while Lance sat himself down on a crate beside him, having been poorly attempting to use it to help himself stand or walk- but clearly having given up on that. Keith, to put it simply, didn't believe the bullshit that Lance was trying to feed him, as it was evident that he was lying when he said that and he was only doing it so that Keith wouldn't judge or mock him.

 

The black-haired captain moved to be beside Lance, seeing a look of confusion cross the brunet's features when the captain seemed to be about to sit behind him. Yet, before he could sit down, Keith wrapped one arm around Lance, his hand just below his chest and resting on his waist while he stood, pulling the injured male with him. He heard him make a shocked noise, that quickly followed by one of pain and another that was similar to the last but a lot more muffled and that Lance had tried to cover up with a cough.

 

Keith hauled his weight with about as much ease as expected, bringing him through and into his cabin, as he didn't particularly find carrying the brunet difficult- it's not like Lance was heavy, anyway- and if anything was difficult, it was having to guide him there without letting him hit his injury on the perfectly placed, shin-height items that Keith hadn't realised were as inconvenient as they were. Lance sighed a little, hobbling along with it incredibly obvious limp until he was finally released and could sit on the bed, his leg throbbing with pain to the point where he wouldn't mind having it cut off. Wishful thinking, though- of course, he'd be irritated by it. After a few days, he'd miss having matching legs, too.

 

He focused back on the important things- the important thing, he corrected- and looked over at Keith, who took a flask from a drawer and held it out to Lance, smiling a little as he pushed it into his grip. "Here, have some. It'll help you deal with the pain." He said, and Lance frowned for a moment before getting the hint that it was alcohol, and he could tell from the smirk on the other's lips that it was strong. Very, very strong. Yet, reluctant to both take it and to seem like he was weak or afraid, he took the flask and removed the lid, hesitantly bringing it to his lips before tilting his head back.

 

It was only a moment before he pulled the flask away and gripped the bedsheet, hunching over and coughing, having struggled through swallowing whatever strength the shit alcohol he'd been advised to ingest by the alcoholic captain. He held it out to Keith, shaking his head.

"No, Cap'n, I can't- It's burning my throat too badly," he admitted, but when the captain didn't take it, he looked up in confusion and lowered his hand. Hell, the glare he was getting for doing something as simple as that was cruel enough to send shivers down his spine. He quickly pulled his hand back and brought it to his chest for a form of comfort, laughing nervously. "N-Never mind." He said hurriedly, seeing the look in the captain's eyes soften a little before he turned.

 

A soft sigh of relief escaped the smaller male and he- albeit reluctantly- brought the flask to his lips once more. Well, he knew he had to get used to this stuff, so where better to start than with whatever kind of alcohol was in this flask?


	18. Staying In The Cabin.

Keith was soon urged out of his cabin by someone with dark skin and a shaved head telling him about a fight that had arisen between two members out on deck, albeit being reluctant due to his blatantly obvious lack of trust toward anyone on his vessel- especially towards someone who had yet to prove his loyalty to the crew. Not to mention how the brunet was soon going to be left in here, unsupervised and under some kind of alcoholic influence. Addressing the injured male in as direct and abrupt of a manner as possible, the captain's bitter tone was loud and crude as he ordered Lance 'not to do anything he'd regret' while he was left alone.

 

The black-haired male didn't even wait for a response before leaving, the door clicking as one of the many locks turned, preventing anyone from getting in (and Lance from getting out, provided he was really faking it) while the captain was gone, and heavy silence suddenly filled the otherwise empty cabin. Lance shivered softly as the warning sank in, his lips slightly parted as if he'd been expecting to get a chance to speak. All he'd intended to do was say he understood or insist that he wasn't as stupid as Keith seemed to think he was- or to do something, /anything/, so the captain wouldn't just assume that he was just quiet and awkward. Honestly, he hated that he was treated so lowly, but not now. He'd not speak up yet- that'd be something that he would regret, he was sure of it.

 

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips at the situation, but he couldn't even begin to let himself complain about it, no matter how strange it felt to be sitting where he was, or how much it made his nerves tingle with fear to make him think of the chances of ending up in the same room as a drunk or angry, or... a captain who was brash and impulsive for other reasons. His blood seemed suddenly hotter and Lance noticed how his skin tingled, but he realised that it seemed to be nothing but the alcohol finally kicking in and doing what Keith had told him it'd do- the pain in his leg had finally subsided enough to be just a dull throb- although it was likely just that his mind was focused more on the alcohol. Hell, even with the alcohol coursing through his veins, Lance couldn't find it anything but strange to think that he was in the captain's bed.

 

Butterflies were swarming in his stomach, already beginning to drive him crazy after a few moments and he was beginning to feel sick from the sensation, but he forced himself to ignore it and focus on what mattered. His palms were getting a little sweaty and his nerves tingled, but he couldn't quite tell whether it was out of fear, excitement, or because of whatever strength alcohol there had been in that flask. Hell, Lance wasn't the kind of person to have held or smelt such a strong amount of alcohol with the intention of drinking it, but with how things have been going for him, he shouldn't be surprised anymore.

 

Slowly, and with more caution than necessary, the Cuban brunet shifted his weight down the bed, his wound beginning to disagree with the disturbance, before he set himself down once more, a soft noise escaping his lips as he calmed his wound down, stopping the pain from hurting him so badly. He relaxed once more, having given himself enough room to lie down, hoping to get back even a little of the sleep that he'd forced himself to miss out on while working at the docks or refusing nightmares. Another sigh glided past his gently parted lips while his blue eyes surveyed the cabin he was restricted to staying in until he'd healed properly.

 

His gaze wandered over the ornaments and objects in view, before he looked briefly over the desk. He noticed the map, with a few extra details scribbled on, and the silver compass lying on top (although he didn't look long enough to see the imprint on the compass' cover), weighing it down a little. He then took a moment to admire the clothes, expensive and fanciful- likely worth more than he could guess- were hanging on the wall close by the desk. Finally, his ocean blue eyes landed on the faded, slightly scuffed and scratched black paint on the wall. Lance couldn't see the pictures well enough from where he was sat to recognise whoever it was on there, but from all the notes and the piles of shit around the paint, he was sure that this man was of importance to Keith.

 

This one wall seemed older than the ship itself, what with the faded paint and chipped wood, and Lance just knew that he recognised the strange shape from somewhere. It was like a stretched out 'V', with two half-arrows along either side, and it was painted in black on the faded wood. He spent a few moments wondering to himself about where exactly he had seen that before- before his eyes widened with remembrance and recognition. He reached down, into his pocket, and fished out the small red jewel that he'd stolen yesterday.After a moment, he held it up alongside the black paint and checked the darkened mark on the jewel, his eyes widening a little more as he noticed that the shapes were more than just similar- they were the same shape, to the same scale, just done on two different things.

 

The brunet spent a few long moments studying his new discovery like it was the most impressive thing he'd ever figured out- before he heard the sound of a key entering the door and a lock click. His breath caught in his throat and fear gripped him before he quickly and worriedly shoved the gem back into his pocket, lying down again properly and watching as Keith pushed the door open and walked inside- angry.


	19. Drunk Once More.

What had happened outside clearly had not been good. Keith was almost seething in anger as he slammed the door shut behind him, not even bothering to lock it yet as he stormed inside, groaning loudly- and somewhat melodramatically- out of irritation or frustration as he stomped in. 

 

Whimpering and trembling out of fear for the angered captain, Lance quickly sat himself up and let his eyes begin following the black-haired male around the cabin anxiously, worried for anything and anything that could possibly happen within that moment or any of the next that he spent in here. The captain was evidently pissed, walking across the room and - as was expected - grabbing the closest bottle of alcohol that he could in that moment. Lance was entirely silent as he watched Keith drain almost a third of the glass, his heart lurching in his chest as the bottle was then slammed down so hard that the brunet was surprised when it didn't break upon the impact.

 

Silence hung over and Lance hated it, soon forcing himself to speak up to avoid the tension from choking him.

"S-Stressful day, Captain?" He asked hesitantly, a playful tone hiding the fear plaguing his mind and threatening to arise in his tone so that Keith wouldn't notice how evidently terrified he was to be around a man like the Captain- especially not with the rare rumours he'd heard about the captain back home, as rare as they were. Keith's steely grey eyes narrowed into slits at Lance's remark, and the suddenly harsh glare made the brunet's throat tighten almost dangerously, fear bubbling up in his empty stomach.

 

He laughed nervously to shake off the anxious butterflies, opening his mouth to apologise for his own talking before the captain intervened, stepping toward the bedridden brunet by only a few paces. His grip on the bottle tightened as he cleared his throat to speak louder and in a more brash tone.

"Aye," a pause to drink another swig from the bottle. "A stressful day." His tone was harsh and malicious and so much more maledicent now as he stumbled closer, the bottle's contents sloshing around loudly before the alcohol was, once more, tipped into his mouth, and another portion was removed from the green bottle.

 

Lance shifted uncomfortably whilst waiting for the intimidating alcoholic before him to speak again, as he was aware that Keith wasn't finished speaking- meaning he was sat in awkward silence with chokingly thick tension in the room. Captain Red them disarmed himself of his bottle before shedding his lavish scarlet coat, using the dirty, off-white sleeve of his shirt to wipe his mouth. Lance just appreciated that the reckless captain hadn't been careless enough as to filthy the coat that the brunet envied.

 

"A-Aye?" He echoed, trembling and only speaking to break the tension and silence while pushing away the choking anxiety he felt. Keith then pressed the cover of the compass down, trailing his fingers over the simple, silver design on top - the same mark as there was on the wall and as was on the small gem currently tucked away in Lance's pocket. His frantic and hazy eyes scoured the room, occasionally lingering on a few items that altered the angered expression that Keith had in his eyes, but the brunet didn't have the nerve to follow his gaze, despite his curiosity trying to tempt him into doing otherwise. Inevitably, though, Keith's gaze landed on him, and his tongue darted over his lips before he spoke again.

 

His words were more paced this time. Dragged out- emphasised, yet slurred from the amount of alcohol that had been drained from the bottle in such a short amount of time- especially with the lack of food that the captain had been able to eat.

"Ayyye," he repeated, nodding slightly. "Sommme blunndering oaf got himself innnjured from his own ina-competence to defennd 'imself while armed, thus distractin' me from doin' my bloody duties as the goddamnn captain of this vessel!" Voice raising as he spoke, the bottle was once more against the captain's lips, emptying, before his arm was raised and then slung forward, flinging the unlabelled and now empty bottle clumsily toward the brunet. 

 

Terrified eyes followed the bottle for a few, stunned silent moments before Lance flinched away and cowered, whimpering a little as he heard the bottle smash- finding that it had broken a little under a metre away from his trembling form. The floor littered and gleaming with broken glass bottle shards, while the shaking and tearful male slowly uncurled and looked over at the captain, who had entirely lost his composure; eyes wild and full of malice, his face red with such a sudden rush of adrenaline while his breaths were ragged and heavy. His entire form seemed to tremble after such an aggressive display of emotion. 

 

Parted lips once more attempted to speak, but only a whimper escaped his lips as opposed to the offer of leaving. The brunet was eager to leave, not wanting to be so close to such an abusive stranger any longer, and so he was about to offer to leave, provided that the captain didn't decide to kill him beforehand- but a harsh glare and a slight, threatening growl quickly quietened him, making him convince his own frantically spinning mind to endure whatever would or possibly could happen to him while he was there.

 

Quickly closing his mouth once more, Lance watched as the adrenaline rush seemed to finally pass and Keith slumped into his chair, causing several chains, amulets and coat pockets full of golden coins and foreign currencies to jingle loudly, blending in with the captains quiet and stressed murmurings. Curses seemed to stand out further than the rest, and it wasn't too long before Keith's voice raise and it became apparent that he was badmouthing the male sat almost directly opposite him- not even two full metres away.

 

The brunet slowly lay back down, his heart pounding against his ribcage out of fearful adrenaline, and he watched with tired yet scared eyes as Keith opened a drawer full of miscellaneous crap, soon pulling out a sun-dried and bleached, black leather notebook that appeared to be older than the ship itself- meaning that it evidently didn't belong to Keith.

 

The dirty, ink-stained pages flicked open as Red began searching for a certain page or section, so focused that his eyebrows began to furrow and his forehead creased- as if he were struggling to read what was written. Hell- provided he could read, anyway. Whether or not he was that educated, Lance wasn't interested in finding out, and whether or not it was the alcohol that prevented the captain from being able to comprehend the writing, Lance didn't seem to care; just wanting to pass out and not worry about the man he was trapped with.

 

He was already beginning to feel guilty about getting injured, for fuck's sake, and he'd only gotten hurt because he was preventing himself from getting a jab to the stomach from a sword he would likely have taken a step into otherwise.


	20. Arguments And Comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters for this story will become a lot less frequent- but hopefully, they should be longer! I hope this is a good update as an apology!
> 
> \- The admin, Bill.

Sharp and bitter murmurs under the captain's breath were taken in neither a friendly nor a passive manner, and Lance soon began returning the shit-talking, glaring down at his own shaking hands to avoid further upsetting the unpredictable, impulsive drunk man before him. Especially when the dagger- kept close to avoid mutiny- was currently lying on the desk beside him- within reach for any time, at any moment, provided that the brunet did or said something stupid enough to deserve a slit neck.

 

Closing his eyes- squeezing them shut- Lance began to murmur a little louder than intended, his tone bitter and his words unfriendly.

"Capitan, pero no voy a ser un criminal de alcohol que no ha vivido un buen día ensu vida. Estaba intentando hacer una vida verdad." ((Aye, Captain, but I've not become an alcoholic captain without an honest day in his life. I was intending on making a true living.)) He hissed, still lying back for the moment, but with his head propped up enough for him to not be looking up at the wooden ceiling. A small movement at the other side of the room before a raised voice spoke back to him.

"No hable ami así, un pedazo de mierda. No estoy estupido. Y tu va a ser un alcohólico, cuando has estada en este barco el mismotieme que yoo," ((Don't talk to me like that, you useless piece of shit. I'm not stupid. And you'll be an alcoholic when you've been on this boat as long as I.)) Keith argued back in a hiss, his words slurred but understandable enough to make the brunet sit up again out of surprise. There went Lance's only way to talk shit about the captain around him without being caught. Caught immediately, at least.

 

Stumbling over his words in an alcohol influenced frenzy of panic, Lance tried desperately to force out some kind of redeeming words or something, but instead, he could only let out a surprised, stuttered, "¿H-Hablas español?" ((You speak Spanish?)), although it would likely have been a much wiser idea to have simply apologised and closed his mouth. As if he ever knew when to do that. Keith's bloodshot eyes rolled and the male let out a gruff, exasperated noise as a sigh while murmuring soft and spiteful comments under his breath - obviously all about Lance.

 

Before long, though, he slowly nodded and the captain spoke up once more, the tense silence nearly dissipating as he did. Despite that, though, Lance was unsure whether or not he wanted the other to talk, as the tone he used was irritated and almost at the extreme levels of tired.

"Si, hablo español. Mucho. ¡Soy el Capitan de este barco! ¿Que bien soyyo sino buedo enderel el captain cuando estoy atacando su barco?" ((Yes, I speak Spanish. I'm the ship's captain. What good would I be, raiding a Spanish ship, when neither of us can understand the other?)) An eye roll ensued and a small hint of embarrassment began to surface within the curiosity of the brunet. 

 

Nervously and incredibly hesitantly, Lance nodded slightly, about to say 'los siento' to apologise before curiosity overtook embarrassment once more and he blurted out another senseless question. "¿Cuantos idomas hablas?"((How many languages do you speak?)) He asked, almost slipping over his words as he spoke, having an interrogation's worth of questions on the tip of his tongue. This question, though, caused Keith to do nothing but roll his eyes as opposed to answering- instead he just bitterly murmured.

"Ojos azules, dormirse," ((Go to sleep, blue eyes.)) he said in a bitter and direct tone. Lance frowned, looking over at Keith who had, in one sudden but abrupt moment, lost all interest in the brunet- who'd only just gained a personal interest in the other.

"S-Solo estaba preguntado ati-" ((But I was only asking you-)), but Keith only repeated what he had said the first time in twice as harsh of a tone and in a much more commanding manner.

 

Without refusal, Lance complied and moved so he was lying on his back, the wound on his leg throbbing and pulsating, getting his attention now that there was no conversation to distract him, and he soon spoke up about it. It would have driven him mad otherwise, despite already being noticeably dulled by alcohol. Without that clouding his mind and judgement, he was sure he'd be holding back tears at this point, or that he'd not even have been able to speak without whining or bitching about the pain.

 

A few moments passed of the same, heavy, boring silence.

"¿Puedo tener un otro bebida para ayudarme quedarse dormido?"((Can I have another drink to help me fall asleep?)) Lance slowly slurred, too tired to translate and speak in English, whining softly in pain as he asked his question, not even realising the pathetic way his voice escaped him. Keith seemed reluctant to flicker his gaze onto Lance, barely even willing to acknowledge him after the stress he'd been put through, but nonetheless, he slowly turned his attention to the brunet. The way Lance cowered back seemed enough of a hint that the look in his eyes was full of malice. 

 

 

More silence. Awkward. Heavy.

"Mi perna se duele, es todo, capitán," ((My leg hurts, is all, captain.)), he quickly added, as if to justify his own request in the heat of such a hostile gaze. His eyes fixed onto the captain anxiously, as he fidgeted around in his place on the bed, hating how quickly the tension had returned to the air, thickening the atmosphere. Keith stood up so abruptly, so spontaneously, that he suddenly had his knees hit the chair where he'd been sat.

 

 

The impact then caused the chair to shift its balance, making the weight of the various items hanging on the back overpower the lacking weight at the front and it toppled over, loud clangs of coins and the jangles of jewellery suddenly filling the room, startling the injured brunet, whose perceptive skills had been dimmed by the alcohol but his alertness having been drastically increased. If he could have walked in that moment, he would surely have jumped from the bed at the surprise and panic that filled his mind. His heart rate slowly soothed and his breathing calmed, but by the time he looked up the captain was gone from his desk and stood at a glass cupboard, having lost all and any interest in his chair. He hadn't even picked it up before walking off.

 

 

Opening the glass door, Lance saw the wide varieties of browns and greens- looking like some muddy rainbow- that the glasses came in, his eyes hazy from the recent, unexpectedly high alcohol intake watched as Keith took a murky green bottle that he'd previously drained about half of with a surprisingly pale hand for someone who spent so much time out in the open. As he turned and began approaching the brunet, his alcoholism became a lot more apparent while he walked, having had time to let everything set in. His body became heavier to drag as he walked, his movements slow and sluggish and somewhat lethargic as he paced across the room.

 

 

Murmuring a 'gracias' in response to the drink that was hastily shoved into his grip lest it fall from Keith's and break (that would just be a waste of alcohol). Latching onto the neck of the bottle with his trembling hand, he slowly dragged the weight of it to his lips and tilted his head back to get the disgusting alcohol to slide down his throat, wanting to get the drink out of his mouth before he could taste it much.

 

Coughing, hacking, and gagging at the taste added to the burning of his throat from the alcohol, the dizzy male held the bottle out as far from himself as possible while trying to push it into the captain's grip. At least the pain relief would ideally make this worth it. Soon, once he'd gotten his coughing and breathing back under control, and the bottle was removed from his grip, he sat back and breathed out softly, one hand on his still burning throat- which didn't quite feel like it was on fire anymore, as opposed to just violently stinging with each breath.

 

Slowly relaxing and lying back, the lack of ingested food caused the alcohol to filter into his bloodstream within ten minutes and he only needed another half hour before he was asleep. His head throbbing dully at the dehydration that was already taking a slight effect, and his skin was tingling from the blood rush. He got so hot before sleeping that he was now missing his waistcoat- it was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap-, his shirt had three more undone buttons than usual, and he'd pushed the blanket off of his upper body, the cold air being soothing on his hot skin.

 

He lay still, his breaths steady, soft, and seemed almost rhythmic as he slept, and slowly the gaze of the captain was tugged from the open notebook lying in front of him to the sleeping, fidgeting body of the smaller male lying on the bed. Intentionally, it was only supposed to be a glance in his direction, but then that became a moment. A long moment. A long moment where a small, idiotic and drunken smile slowly surfaced on his lips. During which, he began to study the serene, sleeping expression of the other. He just seemed so... strangely calm and relaxed that it was almost unsettling. Keith disliked it. He was used to seeing the male with a lot more emotion or attitude- seeing him calm just seemed wrong.

 

But, as the novelty of it wore off, the strangeness of it just became so much more endearing- cute, even. His lips were slightly parted and his clothes a mess from his frequent moving and the sweatiness of his body as his clothes clung onto him, having been worn non-stop for over two days at this point and he would desperately seek new clothes as soon as possible. Well, either that or Lance would have to appreciate the shitty salt water pump that his clothes would be washed with, and whatever he'd have to wear as a substitute while it dried.

 

Stray hairs, messy and matted; tangled and twisted as it had yet to be combed, lay on his face as he moved again. His sleep seemed like such a temporarily perfect state to be in- but it was a lot more temporary than expected as Keith heard him whimper. It was almost inaudible- soft and quiet but no less terrified than it would have been if there were a knife to his throat, his once peaceful dream dying away into a nightmare. A louder whine followed, breaking the almost-silence that was heavy in the room, while Lance's features creased at the fear he was experiencing.

 

The captain's attention was almost immediately fixated onto the notebook, as he despised the idea of daring to allow himself any sensations of pity or concern for someone he barely allowed himself to trust enough to come into his cabin. If Lance wasn't so dramatic about his injury, he swore to himself, he'd have sent him to the crews quarters with someone to clean him up enough for him to live. Keith allowed himself to pour his focus onto the unintelligible handwriting and swimming ink smears that covered the page- but after a long moment of a pounding headache and frustrated curses slipping past his lips, the book was shut and once more at the bottom of the drawer.

 

Stumbling haphazardly, Keith slowly made his way to the bed, grabbing the neck of the green bottle and bringing it to his lips once more as he threw his head back. As the strong flavour of alcohol flooded his mouth and the bottle was emptied- best not to waste a perfectly good drink or leave a pathetic thimbleful- Keith began unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. He then wiped his lips with the loose, off-white sleeve of his shirt, shedding it immediately after and leaving it in a crumpled heap on the hardwood cabin floor while hauling his heavy body into bed.

 

Groaning at the relief of finally being able to relax (it didn't feel as though it'd been this long, but the mood was already beginning to rise) the drunken-minded pirate rolled onto his side- not bothering with the blanket- and closed his eyes to sleep.

 

And maybe it was the warmth of another (albeit whimpering) person beside him.

Or maybe it was just the alcohol to blame.

But Keith soon found his arms were draped around the body of a brunet, whose loosely clothed back was now pressed against a warm, scarred, bandaged but otherwise bare chest.

And it may have been his drinks that made him think this, but maybe.

Maybe,

That was when the whimpering stopped.


	21. Hungover. Again.

By the time any eyes were opened within the cabin, or any abnormally peaceful periods of sleep were disrupted, the sun was stretched high above the horizon and had begun streaking through the grimy, dirt and grease stained window enough to illuminate the large room like the eye of a god peering in on the two of them. Groaning as he stirred slowly awake, Captain Keith Kogane was brought somewhat back into reality- but almost immediately fought against the need to rise from his bed by hauling his own weight closer to the mysterious warmth. He just wanted to sleep a little longer, as it was the first time in a while that he'd not had a nightmare and had just slept in a warm, empty abyss. 

 

Yet, with his head throbbing and trying to provoke its way into getting his attention, Keith turned to anything he possibly could that'd distract himself from his soon-to-be agonisingly pounding head, but that only brought his attention to the fact that the pillow he was tightly clinging to for warmth was breathing steadily and shifting in his sleep, murmuring irregular chunks of words in Spanish. Heart lurching as he let everything finally sink in, Keith allowed himself to murmur a quiet curse at the realisation that, while drunk, he had allowed himself to end up cuddling Lance- the fucking cabin boy- while sharing a bed with him. And Lance's face was buried into his chest. 

 

Keith hadn't intended on moving so suddenly, nor so noisily as he fell to the floor with a loud thud, but it seemed that moving at all had been a remarkably bad choice, as the second he was sat against the wall beside the bed, the throbbing and aching pain in the back of his head suddenly burst into pounding, stabbing pains bursting through his skull as the consequence of such an alcohol intake. Opening his eyes and finding that the room stayed abnormally dark for a few moments afterwards, Keith was not only overwhelmed at the realisation that he desperately needed hydration (as well as needing to relieve his bladder), but also by the nausea and desperate need to vomit that drove him to haul his weight - stumbling a little at the dizziness that followed- out of his cabin. The door, he found, was unlocked, and that was something he'd have to dwell on later.

 

Curses escaping him as he barely managed to make it to the railing of the boat and tilt his head over it before the bile that he'd somehow managed to keep in his throat escaped him, and he hunched over as all the contents- mostly liquid- in his stomach was spilt out and he got the thrilling view of his own vomit falling down the side of the boat and into the ocean below. Finally managing to pull away and deeming it unlikely that he would be sick much more (despite how that took almost a full half hour of being shirtless and entirely vulnerable) until tomorrow morning when he would- most likely- be suffering just as much. But, now that he was done distributing his guts for any witnesses to see, he could finally get some liquid inside him and some other liquid out.

 

Gagging at the taste in his mouth and plodding back to the cabin, a flask of... whatever he'd found that resembled water more than it did alcohol in one hand, while his headache was slowly retreating, Keith felt about as healthy as he possibly could for the next two hours, and so he was almost content. Hell, he got drunk so often that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to wake up sober, and whenever he next woke up sober (or if he stopped waking up entirely before then), he would surely find it a blessing not to have to deal with such agony so early. Maybe, in that moment, he would briefly believe in the existence of a god- before he remembered why he wasn't in agony and such deluded beliefs were gone from his mind. His opinion was controversial, but he had many reasons and many unfortunate experiences that contributed to this. He had his logic and others had theirs- it was as simple as that.

 

Allowing the door to shut behind him and slumping against it for a moment, Keith allowed everything to settle and for the blissful quiet to help soothe his headache further. Finally pulling back just to turn and lock his cabin door- twice, for good measure- the captain turned his attention to the now-awake brunet who was sat in his bed with one, injured leg stretched out and the other pulled close to his chest. Hair only getting messier as he ran one hand through it, Lance offered a small smile to Keith.

 

Silently acknowledging him with a nod and dragging his feet as he paced around to behind his desk, Keith didn't bother verbally greeting the brunet- he wasn't willing to whilst the fact that they'd been holding each other overnight was still ingrained into his mind. Observing a few details about the freckled, unkempt brunet who was now holding his (likely aching) head with one hand, Keith first noticed that the pillow beside him was crumpled and had likely been used to replace Keith when he'd left, the captain watched him yawn tiredly, seeing how drained the brunet was.

 

Clearly, that sleep had done him well, but he still seemed exhausted- yet entirely willing to put himself out there and do what he had to. Honestly, this kid would end up getting himself killed with an attitude like that, and while Keith liked occasional stupidity shown within dedication, he didn't want Lance to die because he's an idiot who doesn't take care of himself. That'd just be one less crew member and one more corpse bound at the bottom of the ocean with rocks around his ankles- he did not want his reputation damaged by that kind of reckless behaviour. Once he'd settled the flask of whatever drink he had and had picked up yesterday's crumpled, dirty shirt from off the floor and- allowing a few, unintelligible but clearly irritated murmurs to escape him- Keith pulled his toppled chair back up and settled it on its four legs.

 

Proceeding to pick up loose, scattered coins and various other items that had fallen from pockets or bags or wherever else and leaving them in a pile on his desk, the captain allowed himself to badmouth his own drunk habits, despising himself for the carelessness he sometimes displayed. Evidently, the night before, he'd been focusing on getting himself to sleep instead of keeping his cabin tidy, but he needed to filter things out into the ocean or into the treasury. His hoarding of coins or stolen jewellery was one of the main contributors to the mess and clutter in his cabin. 

 

He finally turned his attention back to Lance, who was gazing around the room with a mildly dazed expression, focusing on details- an attempt to distract himself from his headache, Keith could assume- and he cleared his throat to get the attention of the bedridden male. Being successful and watching Lance turn his gaze to Keith, his eyes getting focused, the brunet offered up a small smile and gladly accepted the drink he was being offered, draining almost all of it before pushing it back into Keith's grip, not wanting to have all of it but being evidently grateful for having had something to drink, at least.

 

Considering whether or not Lance remembered what had happened between them but shook off the thought only a few seconds later, seeing as Lance didn't have any tension or awkwardness over being around him, and he gladly drained the rest of the flask before taking to his desk and picking up a map, collecting the compass he'd had closed on his desk and briefly leaving his cabin, coming back empty-handed and causing the atmosphere in the room to sour drastically within the awkward silence. Only a few moments passed before the intensities got too irritating and Lance cleared his throat, successfully gaining the attention of the captain as he began speaking.

"When d'ya want me out?" He asked quickly, wanting to get that strangely hostile gaze off of him. Why was Keith's mood such a fragile and fickle thing? It was no wonder that he had such impatience that he used violence to get his men back in line. Lance assumed his misbehaviour upon arrival had been... forgiven, even if it was only a temporary truce, before some outrage invoked by his behaviour brought it back up and he was forced to endure whatever consequences were 'necessary'. He wasn't even sure what had happened to Keith to get him so violent and outwardly hostile, but he'd dig it up eventually. He hoped.

 

"As soon as you can haul your weight down to the crew's cabin and recover there, instead," he muttered with a bitter and somewhat hostile tone, Lance's eyes widening somewhat despite how he'd not expected much else. Hell, Keith had only answered how he had, as he wanted minimal (if he couldn't avoid doing all) incidents like that to happen between the two of them again. He was lucky that Lance didn't seem to remember any of it, otherwise, he assumed that this would be a much more tense and awkward moment than it already was. He didn't even see why he was making such a big deal out of it, anyway. He'd been drunk and Lance was in his bed, comfortably warm, so he'd simply decided to enjoy the warmth he was getting.

 

While he may have been tolerant, Lance was- in no way- a pushover, and such hostile words would definitely not go without some kind of objection. As opposed to what most people would do (shout, defend themselves), Lance decided that he- being mature- would talk to Keith the same way he usually did to his younger siblings when they were in such negative moods. In his eyes, Keith was acting like nothing but a child and he was, in no way, going to accept this kind of behaviour. When it had been provoked? Maybe. When it's entirely unprovoked, on the other hand, there was no way in hell he'd just sit there, looking pretty, and take it.

 

"Is the captain angry?" He asked in a childish tone, his behaviour somewhat demeaning as he spoke to his superior, not seeing any reason to treat someone who acted like a child as if they were anything but a child. And this would be Keith's punishment, provided he wasn't killed for it. Deriving a scowl and a bitter murmur that he couldn't understand, Lance persisted, grinning to himself and being unable to say that he was anything except giddy, feeling as though he may finally get some kind of reaction and some genuine, hopefully positive, emotion from the captain. Finally. 

"Belay!" Snapped Keith, earning a small look of confusion- it was clear that this word wasn't overly common and so it hadn't been taught to Lance, so he simply muttered "watch yer mouth", trying to insist on him shutting up before he got a punishment for refusal to comply. But Lance wouldn't comply anyway. Keith had been acting a lot like a variety of words his mother would strongly dislike the usage of, back home.

"Aye, apologies sir," he said as he rolled his eyes, evidently not that much of a fan of what was being said to him. "I'll be sure to think over what I say, but I can't say it'll change much. Scary Captain Keith can't control what I say," he said with a shit-eating grin, staying where he was and keeping himself somewhat relaxed.

 

 

Keith shot him a look, eyes narrowed and gaze steely. Hell, that glare alone would have sent shivers down his spine only a half day ago. Now, he found himself not caring- amused, even.

"Worm-riddled bilge rat," he hissed out in a low and dangerous tone, Lance having to cover his mouth to stifle a giggle at how unnecessarily worked up the captain was getting over this. It was like he never had anyone talk to him like he was anything other than an authority figure.

"Ye greasy-haired sluggard," he replied in as similar of a tone as he could possibly muster, immediately letting out a quiet giggle. Keith, though Lance could tell that he was trying not let any emotion show that wasn't anger, let his scowl drop slightly, focusing on his desk and beginning to pile away some strewn around parchment or useless objects that he had yet to abandon.

"My hair's'n't greasy, ye bilge drinker," he said in a noticeably less toxic tone than before.

 

That was good; from that alone, Lance could tell he was getting somewhere.

 

 

"Greasier than mine," he replied in a playfully smug tone, seemingly radiating a sense of pride as he looked at Keith, who rolled his eyes and seemed to be struggling to keep his lips pursed in a straight line.

"Shut yer mouth. Lard-brained cockroach," he spat, though his voice was suddenly lacking any malice as he walked around his desk, opening a drawer and beginning to rummage through it, moving stuff into the pile of crap on the desk, the brunet's gaze not even lingering on the captains work as he focused entirely on the captain in front of him. He looked surprisingly charming, in this lazy lighting. Not to mention his lightly tinted cheeks, clearly pinked slightly at the effort of holding back a smile and the amusement he surely had at Lance's comments. The brunet was a natural, what could he say?

 

"Haven't heard that one before. Come on, tell me another. You have really strange insults," he said with a grin as he sat up properly, keeping his gaze on Keith and giving him a lopsided grin, unable to hide how giddy he was. Hell, this entire situation seemed surreal- he might as well enjoy it as much as he can.

"Yer not supposed ta enjoy being insulted," he murmured bitterly, seeming a little upset or irritated that his insults weren't working as planned, but one glance at the brunet, with his abnormally eager and happy expression, made him break. From where Lance was, he could see the exact moment that Keith dropped his moody charade and his irate expression relaxed before his lips curled up into a smile.

 

His eyes crinkled a little as his smile grew a little more, both of them now grinning like drunkards as Lance let out a small giggle, unable to suppress it at the elated mood and the happiness coursing through him, clearly unable to believe that he had made someone so feared and hated /smile/. Him! Keith! A /pirate captain/!

"Alright, alright, now shut yer mouth, you-" he paused for a moment, thinking of an insult that would satisfy Lance, soon settling on finishing his sentence with "grog-faced bile bag." Lance let out another small giggle but pursed his lips shut, pushing himself a little higher on the bed to lean against the headboard, pushing the blanket off of his leg and beginning to undo the bandages a little, subconsciously tugging at and slowly untying the knot. The silence lingered until Keith stopped smiling so much and murmured in an amused voice "yer going to drive me mad. Lance had looked up at him with a grin and said in a delighted voice,

"It would be my honour and is now my aspiration, to drive you mad, Captain."

 

Keith offered another smile for that, Lance relaxing at the suddenly drastically less-tense atmosphere between them, looking over at Keith with a content gaze, making sure he didn't stare for awkwardly long and that he definitely didn't get caught.

Besides, his small liking for Keith based on his appearance and confidence had skyrocketed since that morning. It wasn't his fault that he'd woken up in Keith's arms at an early time in the morning and managed to roll over to be closer. He was tired and Keith had been really warm, and sleeping so close to someone else had been something he liked doing back home, (he often had his littlest siblings share a bed with him after nightmares and) so he'd been quite glad to snuggle into the bare chest of the intimidating man and doze off again.

Waking up in the same bed, without Keith even in the room, had been what hurt. And he didn't even know why it had hurt! He just assumed it was how much the cuddling had made him feel at home, maybe even to the extent of feeling safe. And then he woke up in a new place, without any source of comfort.

 

He shook the thought away and focused back on Keith, who had picked up on his staring (although Lance had zoned out at this point) and was awkwardly waving one hand to try to get his attention, making Lance's eyes widen as he suddenly turned his attention fully to what was happening and his face lit up red. He apologised quickly for his staring and turned his attention to the bed sheets, acting like the plain white blanket was the most interesting thing to look at while Keith silently humoured himself at how quickly Lance had gone from smug to flustered and embarrassed.

 

Dare he say it was cute?

 

He stopped himself at that thought, shaking it off and continuing to clear out the desk. Lance was simply reacting like any other person was. He could find any lady who acted the same. Just because he found this brunet somewhat appealing (growing on him like a rash), he wouldn't permit himself to even think about him in such a positive regard. He had a reputation to maintain. He wasn't going to fall victim to any petty emotions, toward male or female- though especially not towards a male.

He may be a pirate, but he wasn't so low as to jump to any conclusions and assume he felt anything towards Lance aside from appreciation he felt was mutual. That was all. He didn't care about Lance and he wouldn't. It was going to stay this way despite any deluded thoughts that may invade his mind. Like hell he'd actually believe that he liked anyone here- it was normal for anyone in such a restricted space with a set amount of people to latch onto the freshest meat or the most appealing.

 

In this case, it was Lance, and all that these feelings were would remain a symptom of that.

They'd disappear as soon as he got to spend a week some nice place and meet some pretty girls. He'd never been interested in girls, but surely he just needed to meet a doxy with enough charm.

Surely.


	22. Medical Procedures.

Moments passed, and the lightness of the atmosphere had soon dropped, fading quickly back into the same mildly awkward somewhat tense mood that it had been before, but that did nothing to even begin to defeat Lance's sense of triumph at the thought that the famous, well-rumoured Captain Keith Kogane, had laughed while in his company! He dare say that it was actually because of his humour, as opposed to just because of his stupidity. It wasn't malicious or humiliating and it hadn't made him feel like shit- it may even have been genuine!

 

Choosing to end the awkward tension once more- something he assumed he would be doing a lot- Lance spoke up yet again, unable to dull the giddiness he felt just yet, not caring that his elated mood was more than obvious in his tone, even if he wasn't talking about something that was positive and was instead discussing the wound on his leg. Not that he'd dare to forget that Keith had been the one to give it to him, whether it was his own stupidity that had helped the captain cause it or not.

Which it was.

"Can ye get me some clean bandages? These are gettin' a little too bloody n' I don't want to get any on yer bed, provided it opens up again," he requested with a small and awkward, yet polite, smile, that wasn't returned.

 

 

This question elicited a small sigh from Keith, but he let out no noise of complaint or any objection, clearly seeing dirtied bed sheets as a higher concern than Lance's emotions and pain, but the brunet didn't pay attention to that and instead, he simply allowed Keith to be as tired of him as possible while beginning to untie the knot on his bandages and raised his leg, moving to sit on the edge of the bed- his leg seemingly painless until some of his weight was on it and his leg was on the ground.

He grunted a little but covered it up by clearing his throat a little, soon having the blood-soaked bandages mostly undone- but not quite ready to be removed. He wanted to keep it covered until the clean bandages were ready, to at least attempt to lessen the risk of infection. At least he seemed to care about his own safety, even if nobody else did.

 

 

Keith soon nodded and murmured that he'd clean up his wound, moving toward a grimy and overall unpleasant looking cabinet, the glass so grimy it was almost opaque, but from the few parts that weren't, it was easy to see that it was a bottle cabinet, and that was mostly what it contained- glass bottles filled with varying amounts of alcohol, that he soon saw when the cupboard was unlocked and the doors slowly swung open while Keith put the key in one pocket.

Lance would be surprised at the amount of alcohol in there, provided he hadn't seen or previously heard about the older male's frequent habits with drinking, but as he'd been there to witness it and experience the drunken aftermath, he wasn't surprised to find out that there was such a supply of these kinds of drinks in a cupboard in his own damn cabin.

 

 

What /was/ surprising, was finding out that just behind a couple of the bottles on the bottom shelf, there was a small wooden box that had a red cross painted on in dried, chipped paint, showing that it was a medical kit. Lance had expected those to be kept almost anywhere else, as the captain seemed to have no concern for his own health (the dustiness of the box proved that this was something he was definitely careless towards in his behaviour), nor for practicality.

But here they were, and whatever was in that disgusting box- whether clean or dirty- would be what he'd have to use to be bandaged up and have his wound cleaned. He could try to be optimistic, but things hadn't been in his favour this far, and he didn't see why that would change at any point- much less now.

 

 

Lance felt as though he was obliged to clean up after all this. He was used to keeping a house in the best shape possible and so he had done more than his fair share of cleaning, but somewhere with something as dirty as that cabinet and as unhygienic objects that were supposed to be used to keep things hygienic and clean, felt wrong.

He wasn't a fan of cleaning, as it was simply a chore, but having done it so much over the last few years had trained him somewhat, making him feel as though he held a certain standard of cleanliness and he felt like he genuinely needed to uphold that for some sense of familiarity or routine.

He cleaned almost daily back home, and to be somewhere like here where he could be as messy as imaginable? It felt unnatural. 

 

 

Not to mention how he felt obliged to do something for Keith in return for not being killed yet, and doing something to neaten up the place would surely be appreciated, even if it was only going to be clean for a short while. Yes, he may have been forced into this position due to abduction, but that was something he refused to think about.

He'd not been killed immediately after boarding the ship, and so he had the chance (which bred the hope) that he may be able to see his family again and that they will, one day, be able to see him alive. That'd be much better than them finding his corpse on their doorstep.

 

 

Watching the captain as he picked up the box and dumped it onto the bed- the quiet clattering of very few items that had were kept inside showed that it was almost empty-, Lance soon turned his gaze to the tiny, dusty little thing, with it small blood stains and disgusting exterior. Whether the lightness of the box was because of frequent use (Lance doubted it) or just because Keith had assumed he'd never need that much stuff and let most of his wounds heal on their own, the brunet didn't currently care enough to find out.

He soon had a bottle of alcohol thrust into one hand and he clamped his fingers around the nozzle, bringing it to his lips without question and draining a portion, wiping his lips and having to bite back tears at the violent burning in his throat. He coughed a little afterwards, before putting his bottle down on the floor beside the bed, before it was scooped up and some of the alcohol was poured onto the bandage.

He just allowed Keith to do this, assuming he knew what he was doing, before suddenly the bandage still on his leg was tugged- and torn off in one, violent yank.

 

 

He let out a small cry before clamping one hand over his mouth, the skin around the wound that had begun to heal had done so while the bandage had been fixed so tightly that he'd had his skin begin to heal to the grimy fabric. Tears filled his eyes but he bit them back, warm blood oozing down his leg while the skin burned as though he was being stabbed by needles every second. His hand was even shaking slightly, and he was struggling to keep himself quiet. Moments of peace only lasted moments before he saw the pin Keith pulled out of the box, followed by some black thread- which quickly gave Lance the hint of what was coming.

 

Audibly though accidentally whimpering, Lance felt queasiness settle in his stomach and he felt quite glad that he had yet to eat anything, his gaze fixed on the needle as though he expected it to turn into some deadly weapon before his very eyes.

He was tempted to change his mind, to tell Keith he'd honestly rather not have that grimy, unhygienic needle jabbed through his skin repetitively, but he simply kept quiet. The male before him likely had to deal with this consistently; he definitely knew more about whether or not Lance needed stitches. And so, he would be forced to trust the captain's judgment by the more rational part of his brain.

 

He was handed a dirty, bloodied rag and quickly realised that it was to work as a gag. He could almost feel himself vomiting at the thought of putting the thing in his mouth but complied nonetheless, appreciating that he would definitely need it. Letting it rest on his tongue, Lance could taste the metallic blood and the saltwater from whenever it was last washed in the sea. The taste of copper and salt was immediately filling his mouth and it was not a complementary combination. It made him feel sick- he hated it. 

 

 

Now, of all times, was definitely not one to start doubting Keith's medical knowledge. Or his practice. Or... mortality rate. Sure, he may have been being overdramatic, but he was scared- and for good reason.

 

The bottle of alcohol was soon on Keith's lips and being drained at an almost worrying rate for such a long time, though the more worrying thing was the idea that Keith was getting drunk so that he could do this, as opposed to being sober like any trustworthy doctor would be. Either way, he'd surely prefer this to maggots in a wound. Surely.

 

 

Soon enough, Lance figured that if Keith was going to drink to numb whatever he was feeling about this upcoming surgery, would Lance, and he took the rag from his mouth. Snatching the bottle and draining the final portion of it- too small, he decided- Lance set the bottle down and murmured out a request for another. Rolled eyes signified that he would not be receiving what he demanded, so he just stuffed the rag back into his mouth. The alcohol soured the sickening taste further but Lance distracted himself by trying to read some of the stolen newspaper clippings that littered the wall around him. 

 

 

The ravenet shuffled back and held the needle up the light so he could tie the thread to the end of the needle, biting down on his lip as he focused a little. Keith had blurry eyesight that made this a little difficult for him, so Lance soon took it from him and thread the needle, handing it back to the captain- offering a smile through the rag and getting a scowl in return. Like he'd expect anything less. He trembled a little as he watched the male wipe off the needle and get it ready by his mildly mutilated skin, already considering skipping over the stitching and beginning to bandage himself up, sighing shakily as he gripped tightly to the bedsheets, anxiety bubbling up but being forced back down regardless.

 

 

Though relieved to see that the dried blood that had been on the needle was now smeared on Keith's pant leg, Lance couldn't honestly say that he wasn't trembling while being even remotely similar to honest. Though it wasn't something he'd have willingly done in the first place, he was definitely regretting allowing himself to be stabbed- or involved in any duel in the first place, for that matter. The needle entered his skin without any warning and he drew in a sharp breath through his covered mouth. He forced himself not to gag over the taste his gag provided and flinched again as the needle was then forced through his skin once more.

 

This process repeated.

 

Agonising pain was the first thing to notice, around halfway through, though that was quickly followed by the taste in his mouth and the tension in his body. Lance, evidently struggling to hold back tears and whimpers of pain, was not enjoying this situation, as hard as that may be to believe. His teeth were clenched so hard on the 'gag' that had been forced into his mouth that he could feel them digging back into his gums, but that discomfort was the least of his problems in this situation. Eyes shut, he didn't want to imagine Keith's face, only able to think of it in two possible expressions- boredom or irritation. Whether those may be due to the dull process or how Lance was reacting was unimportant.

 

 

Fully aware he had to get used to this pain, Lance could almost cry at the thought of having to endure this pain and much, much worse if he was willing to survive this ship to hell. Even despite this, the alcohol was doing its job by amplifying his emotions and his pain sensitivity, meaning that this would be much worse sober but he'd be able to cope with it easier; or less pathetically, if nothing else. He'd not eaten in twelve or thirteen hours, by his assumption, and this allowed the alcohol to filter directly into his system.

 

 

The most painful part came when Keith pulled the string through and tightened his wounds, the friction burning like he was being washed with alcohol again. Hands curled into fists, he trembled from the overwhelming pain, trying to keep his leg as relaxed as possible since being tense only made it worse when the needle went through his skin. He was almost unable to hold back the hot tears behind his eyes as they finally opened, flickering onto Keith though his view was too blurred by his tears to see anything but a mess of black hair.

 

 

He felt his tears drip down his cheek as he closed his eyes again and quickly made to wipe them away, hoping Keith hadn't noticed his display of weakness. This, he was sure, would be an incredibly frequent occurrence- and if not with him, then with the crew in their entirety. He would force himself to get used to such pain, no matter what it took.

 

 

Though, somehow, he managed to brave his way through the agony without pissing himself or crying in pain, provided you ignore a few scarce tears that managed to escape his eyes beyond his control.

 

Keith looked up at him as he used a knife to cut off the end of the thread, leaving his wound stitched up. The bandages were then picked up and, after yet another dose of alcohol was poured onto the wound, his leg was bandaged. He let out a breath he was unaware he'd been holding in, sighing as he looked down at Keith, rubbing his red eyes a little before spitting out the vile gag and clearing his throat.

 

This being the first time Lance had gotten even the slightest chance to relax in what had felt like a decade (despite having only been five minutes), and so he gladly welcomed it as he lay back on the bed, a grunt of relief escaping him as he came into contact with the soft covers. Keith packed everything up and put the small box in the cupboard, looking over at the brunet lying on the bed, rolling his eyes a little and groaning in frustration. 

 

A few moments passed of sudden silence while Lance surveyed his surroundings, his attention slowly turning to fix to Keith, trailing along his form as the coat slid back over his shoulders, settling loosely in place. It didn't seem to fit him, either. This black coat was too big around the chest and not broad enough on the shoulders.

Actually, the more Lance looked, the more wrong it seemed to appear. It was too long, going down past his knees when it shouldn't, and the sleeves were rolled up past the point of fashion or convenience. The entire coat just seemed to be an inconvenience that wasn't built for him. If it was built for anyone, it was definitely not him. It was made for someone with a more broad frame- older by a decade at the highest, a lot stronger and more muscular. Keith was not the right build for this coat, and it made him seem like a child trying on a parents jacket.

 

"Nice cabin." An impulse choice, speaking out, which seemed to catch Keith by surprise as he turned and looked out at the few of them, frowning. A few more moments passed before Keith spoke up in return, still adjusting his coat to sit properly on his shoulders.

"It's a bit full o' crap, isn't it?" He asked him, evidently reluctant to speak as he looked at himself in a broken mirror. He'd broken it during a drunken episode, and he couldn't quite recall what had gotten him so upset or how this mirror had been chosen as the victim, but it was a thought he paid little attention to, as he rarely looked in the mirror anyway. His eyes flickered to the male, whose reflection was caught by the mirror, and he saw that his blue-eyed gaze had turned onto the wall.

 

Keith's eyes followed. He looked at all the stray parchment, circles on maps, shitty sketches drawn with a shaking, alcohol influenced hand, always the same. The long hair with the white streak, scruffy stubble darkening around his chin. Finally, he pried his eyes away and had to force himself not to look in the mirror again to avoid seeing everywhere that the coat didn't fit him. He looked back at Lance, who shrugged a little upon making eye-contact.

 

 

Lance, biting back questions about the wall, forced his curiosity down. He was determined to find out who this mysterious character was, but he'd question Keith about it some other time. Potentially when he was drunk and wouldn't remember it in the morning? That was probably not the best idea, actually.

"No, not at all. I like it. The longer you keep these things, the more value they have, right?" He asked him with a slight murmur, his body relaxing and his mind being tempted into sleep now that the pain was over and he was lying mostly on the bed. Now it was Keith's turn to shrug at the question, pacing toward his jewellery rack, all of which was stolen or left behind, and he began to hang a few pendants around his neck, liking to dress up and show himself off for his riches.

 

 

"Are you going to sell your stuff?" Lance spoke up again, disliking how eager Keith seemed to be to let the conversation die. Sure, excessive conversations may not be something he likes but suffocating and tense silence was what Lance hated, so they'd have to find a compromise or they'd both suffer more for it.

"It's better than tossing it all in the bloody ocean, isn't it?" He asked him bitterly, trying to get Lance to shut up and give him a break. All morning, the hangover-curing discluded, had been focused solely on Lance, and Keith was normally focused on self-preservation, not on this whiny little landlubber that decided to stumble onto the single thing Keith had- his ship. "Besides, I ain't got anybody to give this shit to," he muttered out as he adjusted his coat once more, sliding his sword into the sheath on his belt. "Not like someone like me can turn up at Christmas with hands full of stolen goods."

 

 

Lance was finally, though temporarily, silenced. He lay there, studying the wall meticulously as his gaze flickered to Keith, deciding to question him before he was left here to wander.

"What's with that wall, anyway?" He interrogated simply, keeping it direct and simple and, from his point of view, entirely harmless. Unluckily for him, though, he and Keith had points of view that were strongly contrasting. Already irritated by the conversation he'd been enduring prior to such a personal question, Keith simply got frustrated at this new question, though Lance was only still talking because while sobering up his attention was being forcefully diverted to his leg.

 

 

He saw Keith tense and immediately opened his mouth to apologise for his query, wanting to take it back and change the subject entirely, but Keith was already snapping at him before he could change his mind- a shark scaring an idiot back into the safety of the land to stop him from getting to treacherous territory.

"What's with yer damn nose! Too big to stay in your own business, so it digs into mine?! Worthless pisstake," he spat out, using anger and hatred to fight Lance back and cover up whatever it was that he was refusing to share.

 

 

Lance was a bigger idiot than some, albeit that was evident, and while that successfully shut him up, it didn't put him off or smother his curiosity with fear, as intended. "What is on this wall is strictly personal," he then hissed out, turning his back to Lance and toying with what was on his desk. "Nothing you should've known about, much less had the nerve to ask about!"

Now that the burst of anger was over, Keith seemed to crumble somewhat. It was a short but nonetheless embarrassing display of emotions. A display of insecurity masked by anger, Lance was aware, as that was easy to figure out. Especially not when you've had to bear witness to people exploding in the same manner on repetitive occasions. With the financial crisis that his family had been enduring and all the stress that had been building tension, he was usually the one taking the heat for everything his siblings did wrong.

 

 

Shaking off the thoughts of home and forcing them back into the recesses of his mind, not wanting to think of anything around that to avoid upsetting himself while he still had someone in his presence. He moved properly onto the bed once more, sighing a little as he fixed his gaze back onto the older male, who was stood by the door, checking that he had everything before he left to fulfil his captain's duties.

"Solo estaba peguntado una pregunta, maldita sea."

"Mira tu maldita boca. Todavía entiendo español, idiota."

 

Lance's eyes widened a little, having evidently been left with no memory of Keith having the ability to speak Spanish, thanks to how drunk he was. For now, though, he simply settled into scorned silence and decided against being foolish enough to speak up and argue with the captain in his own defence. He valued his tongue enough to keep it in his mouth, and this was his way of preserving that.

 

Keith's eyes were narrowed into slits as he glanced back to the mildly crippled brunet on the bed.

"Comienza a practicar cómo caminar correctamente en tu pierna mala. Quiero fuera de aquí tan pronto como puedes llegar a una cubierta abajo y perder tu tiempo allí, no el mío aquí." And then he was gone, disappearing outside and slamming the door behind him, the salty wind sending a chill down Lance's spine as the words settled in. No time like the present to avoid later punishments from a temperamental captain about being unable to stand.

 

This wasn't going to be a fun way to kill however long of the day he spent alone. In intense pain as he forced himself to hobble around in some attempt to be able to walk on his bad leg.


	23. Rumours Spreading.

The cool air snapped at Keith's face and hit him like a whip, causing his eyes to sting and burn and water, as per usual. His coat was flapping in the wind behind him and he stood still as he allowed himself to bask in the sensation. It was nice. Pleasant. As though civil restraints were falling away from him. The ones brought on by a suffocating, small cabin. One where he needed to act civil. Provided he had the choice, he wouldn't be so civil, but he was trapped within the presence of another person.

 

His eyes closed to further immerse himself in the liberating, familiar feeling.

 

A shudder slid down his spine, the coldness of the air finally setting in. To combat this, he pulled the baggy coat a little tighter around his form. Doing this, he forced himself to ignore how it tightened uncomfortably at his shoulders.

 

 

Waiting for the sun to resurface from behind a cloud and change the chilly atmosphere, Keith opened his eyes to peer up at the sky. Judging by whereabouts of the sun, Keith could assume that he'd gotten out of his cabin before noon- thank the gods. Ideally, he wouldn't be teased or shamed, for staying in his cabin so late whilst sharing a bed. And, aside from a few remarks about exactly that, he seemed to be having a decent morning. He allowed himself to finally fix his mind onto his duties.

 

 

Determined as he may have been, he only walked a few paces to the lower deck when a stammering voice called his name. Someone familiar was demanding his attention. An all too familiar situation- his useless navigator had gotten them lost once more. He sighed as he moved back away from the staircase and went to the stairs to take him toward the helm, instead. He supposed that those important duties could wait. It wasn't like the cannons were important- they only increased success during battles. It was only imperative that they were loaded with enough gunpowder and that they had a sufficient amount of cannonballs.

Yet another sigh slid from his lips as he made his way to the poor man, stood on the helm and seeming confused- lost, even. The disappointment that came over him as he approached the man was expected, and he smiled sheepishly, already humiliated. Keith stood in front of him, adjusting the fancy hat on his head.

 

 

"Am I going to have to explain something very simple to you?" He asked him, making the male nod after a matter of seconds.

"I-I-I- 'm no-ot the smar'est, ca-cap'n," he managed to stammer out, and Keith nodded.

"I'm aware. What's the problem?"

"I-I seem- I canny- It-"

"Are we lost?"

He nodded, though Keith only took the compass and the map. He spent a few, long moments glancing from the sky to the map, before sighing. "Keep us sailing east until it's dark enough to see whereabouts we are, alright?" He questioned, receiving a meek nod in return.

 

 

The man had a speaking problem. An undiagnosed (and so unnamed) one, which was what caused him to stammer so much. He frequently decided against speaking to avoid an awkward stammer, something Keith had gotten used to. He'd say he had welcomed this male aboard regardless, but he'd already been a part of the crew when he joined.

"I'll have to relieve you of this position if this happens again, Shallots." The man seemed upset by this but nodded quickly. Again, 'Shallots' was his nickname- based on some story that Keith hadn't experienced as captain.

 

 

"W-W-on-n't-" he murmured to Keith, doing some vague action that seemed to be a salute- one that Keith returned without enthusiasm. This was when he finally began to trudge back to where he'd planned on going. Confrontations like that of him and Shallots, Keith knew, tended to be unavoidable. If his inconvenience delayed them much longer than a day on this voyage, he'd have to deprive the man of his position. Best for that to happen now, before any further accidents caused them hassle. This wasn't the first and, by no means, would be the last time an incident like this occurred.

 

 

Keith, returning to the stairs below deck- this time undisturbed- called for the attention of everyone loitering around and avoiding their duties or those without. Demanding the cannons be restocked with gunpowder and that each have a sufficient amount of cannonballs supplied, he watched the men jolt up and salute hastily before beginning to work. He watched, a soft and frustrated sigh slipping through his lips as he began to pace. His steps were rhymic and steady- though rushed, as he was stressed and couldn't get visions of a familiar face out of his head.

 

A tune was vibrating past his lips.

It was a familiar song, and one Keith often found himself humming with an absent mind, enjoying the familiarity of song despite how the lacking lyrics annoyed him. He could never piece together the right words for the tune or even the right rhythm for them. Many a night had he lay awake, drunk or (rarely) sober, and had run through every possible rhythm or lyric he could conjure up in his foggy mind and had come across nothing with even a remote trace of success. He'd attempted it in a few languages, but never got far before the strain on his mind got too much and he'd end up passed out somewhere uncomfortable in the cabin.

The most he knew about it was that Shi- /Someone/ had been singing it to him from a young age. It could be a sea shanty, a lullaby, or anything between. He had no idea.

 

 

Either way, now was not the moment to get reminiscent. Now was the time to focus on his duties. The tune died on his lips as abruptly as it had begun and now he was just pacing around until he settled against the wall, leaning against it.

Eyes closing, he was forced by his mind to recall the image of Lance's face, pleasant and relaxed while he slept, from the darkness of his sight. He forced his eyes open to rid himself of the appealing sight and, instead, turned his attention to the crew members as they began finishing up their cleaning. His cheeks had, he could feel, heated and reddened in a mix between humiliation and anger.

 

What witches spell had been cast upon him? This sorcery that drove emotions from him was surprising and unpredictable and he'd give anything to rid himself of the emotional burden. Lance, in his eyes, was barely human. Anyone who evoked this much emotion from him had to be an enchanter. Lance had to be a siren- a sorcerer of the ocean to evoke something like this from him.

His mind was enforcing delirious thoughts from the recesses of his mind that he knew were absurd and stupid, but he couldn't find it in himself to shoot them down. He needed something to convince him that the cause of these feelings wasn't his own emotional vulnerability. He could barely believe what was happening to himself. First, Lance had evoked pity enough for Keith to take the brunet to his cabin and nurture him, to an extent. Now he was thinking of him without anything prompting this train of thought?

'Next', he swore to himself, 'I'll be cradling him in my damn arms'. Hadn't that already happened, though? Only a few nights back, they had been in each other's arms while in bed. "Shit," he murmured under his breath. Then again, a little more irritably. "/Shit/."

 

 

And, with that curse, he pushed himself away from the wall to find something, anything, to do to distract himself from his cabins temporary occupant. Taking to knot tying, Keith figured that fixing the knots that held the cannons against the wall was important and hoped that it would take up enough of his thoughts for him not to have an unmentionable someone cross his mind again.

Fumbling with ropes, Keith found himself too focused on forgetting about Lance to focus on the knots he was tying, and it took him almost ten minutes to redo the only one he'd undone. He left it there. He'd rather not spend the rest of the day working on some shitty knots.

 

 

He promised himself that whatever curse the brunet had laid upon him, it'd be gone soon, and he'd finally be able to push the cabin boy from his thoughts. It had to be some consequence of a new face on his ship. It was like a pig pen where he only got to see the same faces again and again. Evidently, after a short while, someone knew was bound to cause some disturbance just by being present. Now, it seemed, was that time. He needed to do something that'd take up all of his attention.

Nothing else was getting that damned face out of his mind, so now he was willing to take it to extremes.

 

 

As it turned out, though, he didn't need to. Despite his willingness to do something reckless, something came about at noon, when the crew was called for lunch, that worked.

 

All morning, and even during the start of the afternoon, Keith had found himself unable to focus on anything but Lance. It was unhealthy and he, if nobody else, absolutely hated it. Not only had this blurred his thoughts and meant that he'd been unable to focus properly on the duties that were mandatory to be performed, but it also plagued him with irritation. Everyone who spoke to him was greeted coldly and rudely until he could force an apology out and talk to them properly. He was simply annoyed that whoever spoke with him wasn't Lance. He had to find out what mental mind games were being played because he despised how Lance was acting toward him. It was conflicting and messed with his head.

 

 

Even when he was in the dining hall, he simply found himself prodding at his food with his fork between slow bites, he couldn't take his thoughts off of the brunet for longer than a few minutes. He soon cleared his plate and pushed it away, standing and looking over his crew. Pride took over him for a few moments before his heart sank and he was back to thinking of the male in his cabin. He wasn't even aware anyone was approaching him before a large hand was waved in front of his attention, and he swatted away the condescending limb to look at its owner- Hunk, standing in front of him.

 

 

"Yellow," he greeted simply, looking down at the slightly shorter male with his arms folded over his chest. "Is there something I can help you with?" Finally, someone who could get his thoughts off of Lance.

"Yeah, I was just wondering if Blue was doing much better after his injury-" Or not. "I mean, Cap'n, with full respect, that it's unusual for you to let anyone into your cabin and nobody's seen him, Cap'n. Again, full respect, Cap'n, but rumours are beginning to spread, Cap'n. People think you mighta killed 'im, Cap'n. Dumped him overboard midnight or something," he explained simply, keeping his gaze fixed on him while rubbing the back of his neck- a nervous habit. Keith's eyes narrowed involuntarily.

"Killed him, you say?" he echoed as his eyes stayed firmly focused on the male before him.

 

 

Hunk nodded.

"Indeed, Captain. Slit his throat and dropped him overboard. Like with the last one, Cap'n." He paused, seeing the hostility that suddenly flashed in Keith's eyes. "Again- full respect, Captain. Just repeating what I remember overhearing. Crew quarters talk, sir. Nothing to it," he said decisively as he looked at Keith, whose expressions softened in awareness of how irritated or intimidating he'd come across.

"What do you mean, 'like the last'?" he then decided to question. "You shouldn't know about that, Yellow. You weren't a part of my crew back then." The chef, smiled nervously, glancing over to Green, who seemed preoccupied with the pocket watch she'd pick-pocketed from an expensive shop in England a year or so back.

 

 

He then turned his attention back to the captain, who had followed Hunk's gaze and was now looking at Green. "Of course," he murmured scornfully.

"Captain, I only overheard it late last night, I swear," he said defensively, sticking up for the smaller and younger, who had now opened up the watch to see the gears move rhythmically. "He wasn't part of your crew back then, either, so he'd not know, surely," he then continued as he looked at the older, whose eyes were fixed on Green in the corner.

Keith finally turned his attention back to Hunk. "From who?!"

"Just a few whispers in the cabin, Captain. Too dark for me to see who and too quiet for me to recognise their voice, to tell the truth." He glanced around, then looked back at his superior.

"Outside, now, Yellow. I need to know everything you overheard about this 'last one'."

Hunk was outside within a few seconds, he and Pidge sharing anxious glances until he was stood outside, Keith's hand resting on the hilt of his blade, despite how Hunk was the sole person onboard who had any idea how to cook, and so they needed to keep him.

 

 

It was just for intimidation, anyway. Like he'd be stupid enough to harm Hunk right then and there.

"I don't know names or anything, first off, Cap'n," he explained as he looked at the taller male, who didn't show any signs of acknowledging this statement, though he had. He just wanted Hunk to keep talking, to get to the point and, eventually, get this over with. "It's just recently surfaced that you challenged someone to a duel on your ship after a year or so of having him on your crew, Cap'n, and- it's all just stories and rumours, o' course-"

"Shut up n' get on with it, ye lard brained, lard-bodied bile bag!"

"Right, Cap'n, yes. Well, I heard that you got him pretty badly injured in this fight before he resigned and told you ye'd won, and you brought him to yer cabin fer 'safekeepin'' and all, n' then ye dragged him outside at midnight n' slit his throat before ya threw him overboard." Hunk seemed to be finished, and Keith simply stood dead still, grinding his teeth together.

 

Well, Hunk successfully got his mind off of Lance.

 

"Is that all that you had... overheard... about this 'last one'?" He took a step toward Hunk, though it was more of a stomp. Keith's mannerisms tended to reflect that of a three-year-old, provided that this toddler had much more authority and an entire crew at his disposal. Hunk hesitated before speaking again.

"Cap'n, is all jus' rumours, I swear to ye, but I overheard that his name was Lo-" Keith had a dagger to his neck upon impulse before Hunk had even finished what he'd been attempting to say.

 

 

Straightening up and tucking the dagger away again, the captain cleared his throat and Hunk- evidently shocked and scared to the point of tears.

"Don't mention his name. Not here- not anywhere. Not around me or behind my back or you'll take to the same fate!" He then threatened, his words full of menace, malice, and moodiness that gave them a genuine undertone, showing the severity of such a threat. Hunk merely nodded to show that he'd comply with the demand.

"A-Aye, Cap'n, sir," he quickly regained his composure and rid the signs of fear from his face, despite how they were still obvious in his eyes and expression. "Apologies, Cap'n. Shoulda been more careful, Cap'n. Apologies." Now it was Keith's turn to nod and straighten up, recollecting himself.

"Get back to the dining hall. Or piss over the edge of the boat- you look fearful n' I don't want a piss streak staining my deck." Striding past Hunk and heading back into the dining hall, Keith prepared a second portion of the meal to give to Lance.

 

 

He moved onto the emptiest table and stomped his foot down, successfully gaining the attention of everyone as a pale Hunk stepped back inside and settled into a seat beside Pidge.

Silence soon hung over the room, sensing the hostility in Keith's stance and the malice in the first word he spoke. "Imbeciles!" He bellowed in an irate tone, stomping his foot as he spoke and making the table shake underneath him. "Have you no respect for your Captain?! Spreading rumours like a lit match in a gunpowder barrel?!" His voice raising steadily, Keith stepped off of the table and moved to stand in the centre of the room.

 

He was silent for a few moments, glancing around the room at the faces staring at him.

"Why are you all lacking brains?! What happened to a previous member of my crew, by my hands, is unimportant! Blue, the most recent addition to this crew, has not met the same fate as he has yet to provoke me enough to deserve it! If I hear even a trace of these rumours still spreading, I will not hesitate to keelhaul any and all people responsible!" He then announced, his voice loud and cutting as he looked around. "The walls have ears, you cretins! Am I understood?!" Glancing around, everyone murmured out their own 'yes captains' or alternate affirmative murmurs.

A few people saluted and he mirrored it to show respect, even while irritated, taking the plate and striding toward the door. "One more word and I'll have all involved in the conversation punished. Anyone who is aware of names will be silent! That name is banned from this ship!"

 

He slammed the door on his way out.

 

 

He took quick, erratic strides to the cabin- a contrast to his normal and more casual pace. Pushing the door to his cabin open, Keith found that Lance was asleep once more. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes a little messy, meaning that he'd been getting frustrated while attempting to walk if nothing else, but Keith wasn't in the mood for anything even remotely nurturing. He slammed the door shut and Lance jolted awake, scrambling to sit up.

HIs gaze locking onto a pissed Keith, he quickly pushed himself out of bed and gripped onto a cabinet. "I- I swear I've been practisin' walking, Cap'n, I have," he said indignantly, protesting against what Keith could say before Keith had a chance to speak. "I just moved to sit down, y'see, n' then I dozed off. I dunno how I did, Cap'n, and I didn't intend to," he paused and hesitated, before falling into silence.

 

 

Keith thrust the tray into his hands before leaving the room, slamming the door shut. Lance could hear it lock. He moved, despite the pain, back onto the bed and began to devour what little meal he'd been given. He drained the glass of weak rum and set the cup down impatiently to begin digging into the rest of the well-cooked meal. Sure, the ingredients were salty to be preserved and didn't taste too good alone, but Hunk seemed to work wonders in the kitchen. It was impressive- one of the reasons he admired Hunk was his skills within cooking.

 

A sigh escaped his lips when the meal was finished, and Lance took to studying the cabin he was temporarily a hostage to. Pulling himself to his feet, Lance waited for a momentary headrush (due to lacking any decent hydration) to pass and began to pace around the room. It wasn't an overly thrilling place to be trapped, but the many details were all it took to amuse him.

 

Currently, over a minute later, he was perched on the desk and studying the collaged wall. It looked messy, and cotton threads connected various things in multiple, badly dyed colours. He allowed himself to take in the details, before reaching up and pulling down a small note. On one side, it was a list of the features Keith could remember, and on the back it was a small collection of sketches- all messy but of the same person.

On some, the cheekbone was more prominent, or the nose was, or the lips would be thinner on one than on another. Putting the loose paper back up, where it was, Lance then began looking for something else to study.

 

 

This wasn't his business. He was well, well aware that what he was doing was wrong. Morally, especially. It wouldn't look good for him if Keith returned, or someone came in, and saw him pulling pieces off the wall, reading through them, before pinning them back where they were.

He just found it intriguing. The captain seemed so infatuated with someone that he'd never heard of- someone that remained unnamed on all notes- and it spiked curiosity. He'd found letters explaining what he'd done, what he'd found that he described as potential clues. There were promises of getting this stranger back and other such promises.

Some seemed like confessions- where he explained that he'd had to sink 'yet another' ship that had attacked him. He confessed all the lives he lost, with all the names scrawled out and scribbled over with notes reading that it was unimportant, claiming that he'd risk anything for this man.

 

 

Lance almost didn't hear the door unlock, but the loud CLUNK of a lock falling open jolted him and stole his focus away from the letter. Hastily, he pushed it back into place and stretched his legs once more, awkwardly shifting his weight distribution before beginning to balance them out. He hobbled around while the desk worked as a crutch.

 

The door swung open after a matter of moments and Keith kicked it shut. Hard. His coat was a little dishevelled and his hat was askew. His jewellery was off within seconds and inside a drawer that was slammed shut. Lance's gaze followed the captain until he began stripping.

Keith shed his coat, then his shirt, and then kicked off his pants. Lance refused to look, his face burning red. He assumed Keith had forgotten he was there and, still careful not to accidentally glance at his nearly-nude superior, limped his way back to the bed. He slowly settled down and lay back, staring at the wall to avoid letting his glance slip onto Keith. 

 

 

Suddenly, the weight of the bed shifted, showing that the captain had silently gotten into bed. He suddenly let out a loud curse that startled Lance into looking back at him, but he wasn't being looked at. The letter had fallen from the wall- the one Lance had been reading. Hastily turning his attention away, Lance attempted not to look too suspicious.

Keith was suddenly out of bed and picking up the letter, opening a drawer to remove some vile scented glue-like substance, and used it to pin the thing back to the wall. He held it in place for a few long moments and Lance, rolling over, decided it was best to pretend to have fallen asleep.

One eye open to peer at the slightly older male, Lance surveyed his movements. They were coordinated, not excessively brash, and he seemed aware of what he was doing. This was a first, for someone like him so late in the evening, and it was becoming clear that Keith was sober. That was, perhaps, the strangest occurrence on this ship.

 

 

Once sure that the paper was secure, Keith pulled away and straightened up. He brushed himself off, now wearing a much more loose shirt made of a comfier fabric and, aside from that, was only wearing underwear. Approaching the bed and getting under the covers, Keith settled down with a sigh.

He'd believed the facade and was assuming that Lance was asleep, while the brunet was just relieved that he'd not been accused of doing what he had been doing- snooping around and reading letters. Now he knew where the glue was, too, so he could keep things from falling again.

 

Lance could hear every soft breath that escaped Keith's parted, dry lips, and it was oddly relaxing. The company of another person was something he always longed for, and it contented him to be around others. Sure, the situation wasn't ideal, but that was hardly a matter of importance. It reminded him of being back home, in Cuba, and sleeping in the same room as a younger sibling after they'd had a nightmare, or an older sibling after his parents had had a particularly nasty argument late at night.

 

It was comforting, and that was what mattered right now. Perhaps that was what caused him to, subconsciously, shift forward and closer to Keith. Something, mentally, advised him to get closer to the source of not only comfort, but warmth and some strange sense of safety.

Keith noticed but neither tensed nor moved away. It was calm between them, in this moment of peace.

 

 

The only problem was that Lance's leg was beginning to hurt once more. It wasn't enough to make him too needy for alcohol to kill the pain, but it was enough to keep him awake. Every time he began to doze off, his leg suddenly began throbbing painfully and he was abruptly pulled out of his sleepy state.

 

Keith, on the other hand, just couldn’t sleep. There was no one cause of this, it was just a fact. He couldn't sleep. Not even the comforting presence of another human could begin to lull him into sleep. That was one of the main reasons he got drunk so late at night- if he didn't, his mind was working like a stormcloud of static that kept him up. It wasn't his fault that he had this 'stormcloud mind', as he recalled it being named. It was just an uncommon trait he had. Overthinking was a curse, and he was forced to endure it.

 

 

He felt like it was the image of a ghost that kept him up. A ghost that he kept chasing because he knew the face so well and it always surfaced in dreams. Sometimes dreams and sometimes nightmares, they all surrounded the ghost of the man that was ingrained in his mind.

 

 

He stared at the ceiling, feeling unusually empty. Not just emotionally, but alcoholically, that was.

He was sober. It was unusual of him to go to bed sober and it would be unusual for him to wake up without a hangover, provided he could get to sleep in the first place. It was strange, seeing the cabin at night without the walls spinning and the floor wobbling underneath him. Nor did he feel the ceiling sinking to further trap him between the two walls. It was so unfamiliar that he felt the need to drink to get drunk and return to what was now normal.

 

What was even more strange, though, was hearing soft and steady breathing beside him. Whatever he felt was a symptom of being cooped up on a ship with a restricted amount of company, he assured himself frequently

Whatever it was that he was stupid enough to allow himself to feel for the male that lay, currently unconscious (as far as he could tell), beside him, was a mistake. It would damage him like his attachments to anyone else always did.

It was something that would pass with new company and prettier faces. Ideally female, but he never recalled any interest in women.

 

 

This lacking interest in women kept him tempted away from the ocean’s evil, as far as he was aware. Rumours of succubi and mermaids and predators in the ocean, disguised as females, lured away sailors. Whatever his subconscious preference brought him- usually confusion and neglect- would now bring him as much luck as he cared for.

Any sea captain was too aware of these tales and he felt himself protected. If anything did happen, he’d not be tempted by evil. Not in a woman’s form, anyway.

 

He looked at the brunet beside him, a soft breath escaping him. The tan boy was facing him, his eyes gently closed though they occasionally flickered and fluttered, as though he were only a few seconds from waking. Assuming that this was simply how he slept, Keith spoke in a voice lower than a whisper- god forbid that the sleeping male overhear him in a dream, or that the wall has ears to hear him talk of his vulnerability.

“Dulces sueños, ojos oceano.”

Keith moved his hand very cautiously, the oddly pale skin resting gently on Lance’s cold cheek, and, unaware of what he was doing in a moment of impulse, Keith leant in to press his lips against Lance’s exposed forehead.

 

He pulled back, covering where his lips had tenderly touched with hair. A small, triumphant smile on his lips, as though he’d done something for his feelings without anyone knowing, Keith settled back and relaxed. His eyes flickered down, meeting the exact ‘ojos oceano’ that he’d complimented earlier. Lance was lying there, on his bed, staring up at Keith with his eyes wide and full of shock, causing a cold jolt of realisation to wash over Keith.

 

He had just spoken fondly of Lance.

 

He had kissed Lance’s forehead.

 

And Lance had been awake.


	24. Confiding In Him.

The situation was absurd and surreal enough for Lance, mind blank with overwhelmed confusion. His brain process, hazy with absence, attempted to piece together whatever the hell had just happened. What had he missed that had driven the captain to show him such affection? More so- what had pushed the captain to do so while assuming that he was asleep?

 

His face, burning with humiliation, was soon smothered in blankets as he brought it over himself. Sure, it was a childish way to deal with the wave of embarrassment that overcame him, but he wanted nothing more than to disappear at that moment. At least /his/ coping method wasn't to drink the consequences away.

 

 

For Keith, on the other hand, it was. How else was he supposed to deal with things? He'd not been sober for enough time to realise that he needed a coping method. His drinking may not be healthy (It was far from it), but it was good enough for him.

 

Overwhelmed by the strong wave of humiliation that overcame him, Keith was immediately out of bed. His tenseness was due to the sensation of cold shock. He felt as though he had been thrown into the icy-cold waters he was surrounded by. Stiffly, he approached his desk and snatched up a half-empty bottle that, prior to now, he'd done a good job at leaving untouched. It was cold around the neck, where his fingers clasped it. He was used to bottlenecks being warm from how often he held them.

 

He curled his fingers tighter around the bottle.

 

Fighting the urge to launch the object across the room and drink a different one, he slumped into his comfy chair and popped off the cap. His chair, padded for comfort, had creased and crumpled under his weight, fitting to his current slouching position. He, lazily, brought the bottle to his lips. Tipping it up, Keith began to drain the contents.

 

Sure, being sober when he went to bed had been a good idea, in theory, but it was becoming quickly apparent that he shouldn't be sober. During sobriety, he was an idiot. While drunk, on the contrary, he had an excuse for it.

 

 

Moments passed and Lance brought the covers over himself more. His waistcoat had long since been ditched and was lying, discarded, on the floor. His shirt was somewhat unbuttoned. Simple consequences of the heat of being under such a heavy blanket, but he was unwilling want to move.

He'd evidently rather lose layers of clothing than he would lose the blanket. Something about it was comforting. He didn't want to have to leave the sensation of safety it provided him. His heart was still pounding rapidly in his ears, the pace of his pulse erratic due to a sudden wave of anxiety. Or that's what he assumed it to be, anyway.

 

It only took him a short while for his breathing to steady out, and he couldn't recall how long he was under the blanket before he passed out. All he could be sure of was that unconsciousness was welcomed with open arms, and embraced as Lance fell victim to slumber.

 

 

At that point, Keith wouldn't have known either. He was already halfway through his second full bottle and his original, half-empty one, was drained. He'd gotten through enough rum this week to satisfy his crew, but it still had yet to be enough to satisfy him.

Keith, upon a glance at the sleeping lump under the blanket, felt nauseated with nerves that bubbled up in his stomach. He was an idiot. He already knew that he was an idiot, but he never knew that he could be this stupid. He could only imagine how badly taunted he'd be if anyone knew. He had successfully drunk away his problems, and now his mind was fixed on bigger issues. He stared at the wall with an unclear gaze, sighing slightly.

 

 

A rhythm. Keith had found a rhythm. When he wasn't drinking, he'd stare at the wall and hope that he could piece things together that he'd not previously theorised. When he wasn't staring at the wall, he was drinking. He'd drain the alcohol until his throat burned too badly for him to continue, rest his head on his arms, and study the wall. When he finally realised that he'd become a victim of alcohol poisoning if he drunk like this much longer, he still couldn't bear the idea of getting into bed beside Lance.

 

 

Other options were welcomed.

 

First, he could send Lance out. He could wake someone from the lower deck and get them to bring Lance to his hammock. Problem solved- he'd never be obligated to speak diretly to him again, proven he didn't want to.

 

Second, he could sleep at his desk. Sure, he'd done it plenty before and would have no problems doing it again, but that meant nothing. He'd have to reclaim his bed sometime, and sleeping at his desk wouldn't do that.

 

Third, and final, he could expose Lance as a sea enchantress in disguise to his crew and throw him overboard. Cuffing his hands to a cannonball and ditching him would work, surely. It'd send him straight to the ocean floor for him to drown. Surely if he explained that Lance had been seductive and had controlled his mind to drive him to behave like an idiot, they'd believe him? If he did... 

 

He had no doubts in his mind that his crew was capable of mutiny. Not just capable, but willing due to his poor leadership. Provided that he even decided to have Lance discarded overboard, he could see himself following. At least the alcohol wouldn't kill him first- that was a positive.

 

His mind pursued the thoughts of mutiny. Perhaps the darkened whispers in the darkened corners of the crews quarters were plots? In his own mind, he were a pathetic drunkard who could barely command his crews to do as they were needed. He tended to leave them to do what they knew to do, which was poor. He wasn't fit to be a captain, and he was sure that everyone in his crew was aware of that. 

 

 

He needed a break.

 

Lateness brought solitude, and solitude brought comfort. Being alone was the sole thing that calmed Keith anymore. He despised himself for inviting that imbecile of a man into his cabin, much less to his crew. He wished that he had left the man to bleed into the bilge waters until someone hauled him out to throw him overboard. It would have been the best option.

 

 

With the lower decks silent while they sleep, and Green being the only other conscious soul (on lookout duty, hidden in darkness on the crows nest), Kogane was finally alone with his thoughts. He was clumsy as he stumbled out of his dark cabin, but somehow managed to stay on his feet while the ground, swirling under his feet, tried to trip him up. 

 

Once the cabin door behind him had swung shut, Keith took to finding the closest place to him that he could sit down on. He was feeling uncomfortable and awkward. And sticky. Mind hazy, he sat down and settled onto a small stack of crates, filled with cannonballs so that the cannons on the upper deck could be easily managed. He grunted a little, forcing the tension to leave his shoulders and unclenched his grit teeth. He was finally alone, and could relax. 

 

 

The cools nights air was scented of salt and the harsh air whipped at his face, making it burn and sting with the cold, but it was the most endearing quality of the ocean air. He was finally content. With each drawn breath the cold burned his throat, but it was pleasant and he liked it. He'd not to trade his current calmness for anything.

 

Wrapping both arms around himself, Keith found comfort in the warmth of his own embrace. He was the only company that he could find endearing, and he couldn't trust anyone but himself with his vulnerabilities. Lance would have to leave soon- he drank to avoid being seen as anything but a captain, and he disliked needing to do that in his own cabin. Not to mention the importance of the duelling lessons that needed to continue. Lance's footwork was sloppy, and his technique was useless on anything but the defensive. Evidently, it was still useless then. The poor fool had gained an injury while attempting defence.

 

He shook away the thoughts of the brunet, with his charming grin and witty comments. Conversations were sustained if Lance were involved, and it was unusual to have another voice in the usual emptiness of his cabin. It wasn't something he wanted to think about, and so he would not think of it.

His mind, as if to torment him more, turned to the rumours that were thrown about on his ship. He had wanted nothing more than to ditch past mistakes and that damned name. The name sickened him, making him fill with a deep, hate-fuelled anger, and he wanted nothing more than to forget about him and his damned name.

 

 

A long sigh slid from between his lips. He had been an idiot, and he knew it would catch up to him, but he had wished that the old captain could be here to defend him from the crew and their malicious whispers. He would never been the same leader that he was, but he was devoted to catching him and being a leader was the only way to do that. Another sigh escaped him, this one irate and short. 

 

 

He glanced back to the ocean. Thoughts were taken over with painful images of him. The long hair and the piercing eyes. His muscular form fit all of the clothes that now hung loose on Keith's shoulders and arms. Almost all shirts had their sleeves permanently rolled up. The exceptions had the sleeves sliced off to save time rolling them up. 

 

 

He questioned himself, wondering whether or not he had foolishly traded all of the tobacco that had been stolen from some British trading ship. If it were still aboard, he would greatly appreciate having something like that to take his mind off of his own misdemeanours. Subconsciously, he allowed his façade to drop. He were in the dark, and Green was unable to see him. He had nobody to worry about right now, and that was how he preferred it. 

 

 

The ocean soothed him. The waves that danced and crashed and died were his favourite company, and he closed his eyes to listen intently. They left into the side of the boat, causing it to sway gently from side-to-side, rhythmic with Keith's soft breaths as he calmed himself down.

This was where Keith belonged, where he could hear the soft whisper of the oceans waves. He just didn't want it to be like this. It sickened him and made him want to scream or slam his fist into walls, but he didn't allow himself. After all, emotions were a luxury that he wouldn't grant himself.

 

He huffed softly, his thoughts lingering on his cabin once more. His mind was a blizzard of thoughts, where very few lasted long enough for him to focus on them. He missed the old captain, hated a certain mutineer, and then there was Lance. He wasn't even sure how he felt about Lance. The only thing that anyone could be sure of was that Keith needed his cabin back.

 

He threw a wistful glance back at the ocean and sighed once more.

Perhaps he'd always been this way.

Perhaps he'd never change.

 

Keith held no hope that he, or anything, would ever change. He was doomed to always be this way, and it would be his undoing. There was nothing he could do to change who he was. Everyone abandoned him, and now he had nobody to trust. Imagine that- a lowly, lonely pirate despite his crew and the many potential accomplices he could have. That's all that he would ever be. 

 

Was it better or worse to be the kind of captain who didn't trust his own crew?

 

It hardly mattered. To be a captain at all was hell for him. Whatever optimism that may have been captured previously had been long since smothered and killed. There was no sign of him returning. The one thing he could hope for anymore was that someday, he'd regain confidence in his work. If he couldn't have anything else, he wanted to have enjoyment for his work. He needed a reason to enjoy it.

 

 

He had been outside for hours. The coolness had turned to cold and his goosebumps soon brought shivers. Hauling himself up, the slightly-sober captain hauled himself to his cabin to drink and pass out. There seemed to be an exciting night ahead of him.

 

 

Slamming the door behind him, Keith awoke the boy in his bed. He paid no mind to the way Lance jolted and sat up, wide eyes showing fear. He was slightly hyperventilating, but when he realised that there didn't seem to be in imminent threat, the male began focusing more on calming himself down than on the moody captain. All Lance needed was a decent night of sleep to help himself recover. He was aware that he had long outstayed his welcome, and intended on leaving as soon as he could.

 

 

Keith slumped back into the seat by his desk, grabbing a bottle and draining it as much as he could. He slammed the bottle down (causing Lance to flinch once more), and put his head in his arms. He groaned loudly, feeling his throat burn a little more painfully. He pulled back later, grumbling slightly as he waited for it to soothe itself.

 

Clawing at whatever he could to help himself stand, Lance forced himself to his feet. He began limping painfully toward Keith, cursing softly at every other step, though this still didn't get him even an ounce of attention. Not even when Lance had parked himself on the edge of the desk did the drunken male stir. In fact, he only raised his head when it was tapped on, glaring up at the hand that had dared disturb him- then at Lance, who seemed to be the owner of said hand.

 

He grumbled, his eyes narrowed and making him look incredibly irate. "What?" He snapped with an irate expression. "Do ye wish to die? I wish to be alone," he slurred out, glaring as he turned his attention to the wall. Lance bit back a laugh.

"Solitude would be pleasant, admittedly. Alas, you are stuck with me, and must learn to tolerate it," he retorted with a fond smile, beginning to play with his hair gently. His hand was slapped feebly away. 

"I shan't tolerate what is only there because of my foolishness!" he argued upon pushing himself to stand, glaring. Too drunk to be a threat, Lance grinned. 

"Aye, and what is the consequence of your foolishness?" Lance's eyes sparkled with amusement, and he was clearly finding his predicament amusing.

 

Keith grumbled a little. "My lacking solitude," he spat bitterly. "I should've left ye outside to bleed." Lance frowned.

"And what would that have gained you, aside from a corpse and a bloodstain?" This only irritated Keith more- which was something that Lance seemed to be good at, irritating his superiors. The curious thing was that, to Lance, Keith didn't feel like a superior. Sure, when he was sober he did, but not when he was like this. He seemed more like a clumsy sibling.

"Woulda gotten rid of a damn problem," he grunted out dismissively, clearly trying to get Lance to leave him alone. Lance grinned, and persisted. He moved closer to the male, having pushed any memories of the forehead kiss back. 

"And made a mess on your clean deck. I may have a biased opinion, but I think you made the right decision."

 

 

A few moments passed. The tension fizzled and bubbled away as Keith grinned, then couldn't hold back and began laughing. Lance's chest was filled with warmth as the sound filled his ears, biting back a smile. He was so happy- did he really make moody Captain Kogane laugh? A genuine, real laugh? This was the second time he'd heard him laugh, and the crew didn't seem to think of this as a frequent occurrence. 

 

 

When Keith's laughing turned to soft giggles, he looked back at Lance with a warm, drunken smile. "Mm- Fuckin' imbecile," he mumbled with another soft giggle. By now, the brunet's face was burning red. He bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. How could an insult make him smile? The brunet confiscated the bottle while Keith was distracted, bringing it to his lips. Having siblings meant he wasn't fazed by the saliva on the bottle, but Keith didn't seem to have the same opinion.

 

His lip curled in slight disgust, but he otherwise seemed confused. Nonetheless, he was soon distracted by staring at the wall once more. Lance frowned upon setting the bottle down, following his gaze. If he was going to get any information out of Keith, he needed to ask now- while Keith was drunk. Very drunk.

 

 

With a small sigh, Lance spoke up. He was tense, predictably. If this went wrong, it would likely all go wrong. This could go two ways- a drunk captain could open up and spill everything about the mysterious man on the walls, or he could get defensive and violent and Lance would end up hobbling down to the crews cabin. Imagine getting into a hammock with only one leg- he grimaced at the potential pain or problems that could ever happen. Biting the bullet, he spoke.

 

"If I may enquire," he began as he looked at the raven-haired man, having said too much to take it back now. "As to whom that may be?" This caught Keith's attention, and his head snapped up. His eyes flickered from the wall to the brunet before him, and he frowned.

"Why might you enqui-quierrr?" he stumbled and slurred, failing to speak clearly. He looked Lance, frowning. The male shrugged slightly.

"Curiosity, Cap'n. My reasoning is mine own curiosity. I've seen him everywhere in this cabin yet I've not seen his name anywhere. I wish to know who it is that you're fascinated with. If I were aware of who caught your interest in this way, I might be able to offer what little help I can." A soft smile forced itself onto his lips, as if to persuade Keith that he meant it, and the drunk fool seemed to believe it.

 

 

He took in a breath, and began.

 

 

"His name was Takashi Shirogane." Keith hauled himself to his feet and stumbled to the wall. He clasped his fingers around the drawing that shared the most resemblance with his long-lost friend. He slumped into his seat, the crumbled paper in his shaking hands. "A magnificent cap'n, and a much braver one than I." Lance's eyes widened.

"Aye, I've heard of him," he said with a wide-eyes gaze. "Takashi The Tyrant, as the rumours claimed," he marvelled, looking at him with wide eyes, though Keith stood and slammed his hands onto the desk.

"Takashi was no tyrant! Takashi was a captain, and he did what he did for more than just himself and his wealth!" He shouted, his eyes clamped shut.

 

 

Lance frowned, seeing tears in Keith's eyes when they opened once more. "It was his nickname," he mumbled defensively. "Takashi was called a tyrant among the people back home. Disappeared almost half a decade ago, taking his legacy with him. Had I not heard of the horrors firsthand, I'd have assumed he were a child's tale designed to intimidate those who wished to work at sea or in relation to pirates."

Keith's eyebrow arched.

"He may not have been the nicest toward those his ship claimed, but he was a good man. It was a difficult choice to make when he left everything, but he stole a ship and we left. I was young then- eleven or twelve- and he wasn't much older. Green and Yellow had been stowing away on this stolen ship and they were the first recruited." He frowned, wiping his eyes. 

"But he is gone now! He was a fool, and we were all abandoned!" He slammed his fist down on the table with a frustrated cry. "All I had wished for was to be known as someone other than an orphaned pirates child! He had taken me away from that, and now I'm known as a pirate instead!" 

 

Lance hesitantly shifted toward him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders awkwardly. Though the mood was tense, the alcohol stopped Keith from realising that and he crumbled. The affection made him crumble and he broke down into tears, welcoming the embrace. Lance tensed. He would indefinitely regret this tomorrow, but now was not the time to think of that. Instead, he had taken up the task of gaining more information about the infamous Takashi. Nobody ever described him enough for an illustration, but Lance had admired him.

 

It wasn't a good thing, admiring a pirate for being a pirate, but he scarcely cared. This pirate had been a captain for over a decade, and was famously rich. He had confidence, strength, a loyal crew who he dealt loot with equally. It was a lot better than the shit he worked with, provided the pillaging and murder be ignored. Bringing the captain a little closer to himself, disliking this, he waited for him to continue.

Ideally, this comfort would provide a sense of safety to speak freely. His knowing about Takashi might provide reason to open up. Lance smiled; this was easier than he'd expected.

 

Sniffling, Keith spoke up once more.

"I have been searching for him since I got control of this damn ship. Nobody trusts me, I'm likely having mutiny planned against me as we speak," he grumbled and reached out to snag the bottle from the desk, but Lance reached it first and pushed it away from him. While he may not care too much for the captains well being, he cared for his own. Keith may move past the emotional to the angry stages of being drunk. His papa used to do that back home, and that was when it was time for Lance to usher everyone off to bed.

 

Fingers threading through Keith's hair, he tried to soothe the now-whining Keith. He was just like a child when he was drunk- so vulnerable and emotional. Soothing away the soft whines, Lance whispered quiet urges for him to continue.

"Are you not their superior? Why allow them to speak ill of you?" he asked softly, his voice a murmur through the messy heap of hair atop of his captains head. This was a... strange situation to be in, to say the least. The male clinging to him scoffed.

"Do I have a choice? I command them, I treat them fair, I allow them to train and do as they please when they don't have duties to perform. I punish ill behaviour and sort their childish disputes," he said as he began drawing shapes on the desk with his nails. "Yet they still treat me like I'm not their captain. Shiro should be here, and I should be wherever he is. At the bottom of the ocean, I assume." 

 

Lance, shushing him, spoke once more.

"Make them respect you. Sir, you allow your men to walk all over you in order to earn respect that you won't gain." Despite how Keith wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, he was making the best of a peculiar situation, leant back in the comfortable captains chair. Though strange and, admittedly, uncomfortable, he wasn't opposed to the situation. His hands still combed through his company's hair, and when he closed his eyes he almost felt like he were back home.

As hermano Lance, he often helped drunken family members deal with whatever emotional breakdowns they may have. Veronica was often drunk, and her moods were unpredictable while intoxicated. It almost felt like he was comforting her once more, and the familiarity made him smile. It was only when Keith began speaking again that his false reality was torn from him and he had to deal with the truth. He didn't want to be here.

 

 

Homesickness took over but Lance tried to push it back, wanting to focus on Keith, who was nodding hazily at the advice.

"I guess," he murmured dazedly, yawning a little. It was only a second after Keith had slumped that Lance realised what had happened- the captain had been so comfortable and relaxed that he'd dozed off.

 

 

Grumbling, the brunet forced himself to wrap his arms around him, hauling him up. One arm hooked under his legs and the other on his lower back, Lance carried him toward the bed as best as he could without disturbing him. His leg hurt badly and he was limping dramatically with each step, but it hurt to put his own weight on his leg and now he had Keith's weight, too? For fucks sake.

 

Eventually, and painfully, Lance managed to have the captain in bed and slid under the covers beside him. He curled up under the warm blankets for his comfort, staring blankly at the wall. His thoughts were swirling.

Who exactly was Takashi? He still barely knew that man. All that had come from this evening was that he knew Keith was not fit to be anyones captain. Something stirred pity within him, but the man pushed it back. Kogane was merely following in his brothers footsteps. Lance was expecting him to die at sea, too, and didn't believe that it was possible that Takashi could have disappeared in any other way than death. He hoped it were mutiny for all of the he'd ships sunk.

 

He pictured the man in his mind- an amalgamation of all of the images across the wall, the 'most accurate' or the favoured one being his point of interest, and tried to conjure a sense of what this man must have been like. He wasn't inherently evil, according to the biased captain, but he wasn't anywhere near a hero. Lance, if he were honest, wished he were able to have met him. This had been one confusing day, and Lance needed his sleep.

It was likely that his last day in this cabin was coming up quickly, and he had no chances of avoiding that. Even if not within the week, it would be no longer than four days away. 

 

All he could hope for, he thought upon beginning to drift off to sleep, was that he wasn't going to wake up with a knife to his throat to be thrown overboard.

 

 

Luckily for him, when he woke up, there was the blade of a cutlass to his throat instead. Not better (or worse) than a knife, admittedly, but he had only wished that it wouldn't be a knife, so he couldn't complain.

 

Looking up to see who held the weapon to his throat, threatening him silently, his attention was brought to an incredibly hungover, sickly-looking Keith.


	25. Bonding.

Paling, Lance's gazed fixed on the captain. Kogane looked oddly queasy and clearly unhealthy, and Lance's dry mouth hung upon as he studied his face, unable to speak.

 

"Why," Keith began in a low and irate growl, speaking slowly an cautiously as he attempted to cover up his hangover symptoms. "Is there a picture of Takashi on my desk?" He shifted his stance slightly as if recovering from a sudden wash of dizziness. "I haven't any memory," he attempted continuing as though nothing had happened, "of taking it off of the wall nor of getting into bed. What did you do, witch?"

 

Lance's brows furrowed in confusion. He'd have sat up a little at that if any movement wouldn't increase the likeliness of being impaled through the throat. Had Keith just accused him of being a witch? As confused as he was, Lance was well aware of how obliged he was to answer the questions he was asked, lest he had some form of death wish.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't want to die here. This was an... incredibly odd and surreal situation. Forcing himself not to roll his eyes, roll over, and sleep a little longer, Lance spoke.

"Capitan, estuviste increíblemente borracho anoche. Incluso ahora, estás con resaca. Discutiremos esto cuando te sientas mejor"

Keith's eyes narrowed. He grumbled a little, shifting his weight between his feet and accidentally causing the blade to dig into Lance's neck a little more. He let out a breath and pushed the blade away from his skin.

"No, tú bruja del océano," argued an increasingly sickly-looking Keith. "No te permitiré volver al agua mientras me estoy recuperando" Biting back a groan of frustration, Lance pushed himself to be sitting up a little more.

 

He ran one hand through his greasy hair, pushing it out of his face. He had to force himself not to wonder when he'd be able to wash next.

"¿Como podría hacerlo? Estás histérico. Todavía estaré aquí cuando vuelvas." Lance grumbled groggily. Rubbing his eyes, he stifled a yawn to look up at Keith and see his reaction. The older male seemed to debate it for a moment before his pale skin tinted green and he dashed out of the cabin. That was his answer.

 

Despite needing another few minutes of sleep, Lance pushed the blanket away. The threat of opening his eyes to a knife against his neck again had ruined any chances of sleeping that he may have had. Just as the door swung shut behind Keith, Lance got the treat of hearing him vomit. The door slammed shut and a soft breath escaped Lance's parted lips.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he figured it was best to attempt walking once more. It'd been a while since he'd attained the injury- he'd lost track of time, so he couldn't say how many days it had been, but he figured that persistence with trying to walk again was a better choice than being evicted without the ability to do as little as a hobble. He ran one hand through his hair; it was greasy, unkempt, and tangled.

 

Forcing himself to his feet, the male forced any tiredness to the back of his mind. Any problems caused by fatigue would be dealt with when and if he lost consciousness. The idea of being woken by a knife to his throat had put Lance off of sleeping in the cabin. He was evening beginning to prefer sleeping in a hammock to in the comfy bed of someone so dangerous. His only company was so intimidatingly unpredictable. Every second he was at risk of witnessing an outburst, and it was becoming clearer every second that the next outburst could be the one that he finally got hurt.

 

Even while sober the behaviour didn't stop. The one thing that could have been expected was that, while alcohol was poisoning his brain, he would be more erratic and violent. Erratic, yes. Violent, no. His remarkable talent was that he was easy to make angry, and anger was quick to turn into a depressive phase. Who was surprised, though?

 

Captain Kogane while sober was intolerable, incoherent, irritable, intense and crude, yet so transparent.

Captain Kogane while drunk was erratic, unpredictable, emotional, defensive and bitter, yet so vulnerable.

His options were either a rude albeit easy to read captain or a mopey captain that opened up to him without considering potential consequences. Both were reckless and neither were good options. What the hell was he supposed to do? Lamenting his poor life choices and potential future options, Lance pressed weight onto his injured leg. It was healing better and quicker than expected, thankfully.

 

He had only barely managed to distribute his weight evenly between both legs before the door was slammed open as if Keith had rushed back from vomiting and drinking and pissing with the sudden and frantic anxiety that Lance had disappeared. An ocean witch. What kind of irritable, alcoholic fool is so delirious that he believes in such superstitious creatures?

Oh, right. The one stood before him, missing his shirt and seeming incredibly relieved to see Lance for all of the wrong reasons.

 

"What are your plans?" The snappy and cold words interrupted the silence. Lance was beginning to prefer the silence, no matter how tense, over the consistent snappiness of the other. How had he ever gotten to a position of leadership? Funnily enough, Lance could now see why the threat of a mutiny was so reasonable. If he had been a member of the crew since Keith became captain, he'd indefinitely have killed him by now. A soft and elongated sigh slid out from between his lips as he turned to address the other.

"How do you mean?" His head tipped inquisitively to the side, Lance frowned. Keith scoffed.

"With whatever you found out last night! I demand, as your captain, to know exactly what you wish to do with whatever valuable information you found out." Lance frowned at the accusation and the idea that Keith could know anything with even the slightest value to anyone aside from himself. All he found out from that chat was that Keith had separation anxiety and hated being captain.

 

A soft sigh escaped him and he adjusted how he was standing so he could balance his weight out a little more comfortably. "What would I do with it? All I did was ask about Takashi, so-"

"/You/ don't have the right to refer to him by name!" Keith suddenly shouted, lashing out from nowhere, his eyes narrowed into a glare that burned like fire. Flinching, though now low on patience and getting irate, Lance took a challenging step forwards instead of standing down.

"How else should I refer to him?!" His voice was loud, harsh, and cruel. "How the hell are you supposed to know who I'm referring to if I don't use his name!" The silence following his words urged him to continue and he couldn't stop himself, words spilling from his mouth like vomit. "I asked about /Takashi/," emphasis on his name to test Keith's reaction, but he didn't pause long enough to let the other lash out again, "and you told me about him! In our town, back in Cuba, he visited once and anyone who saw him in person and had /any/ chance of putting a face to his name died. We /only/ knew of him by name, and I am the only person who knows his face who might have a chance of remembering it!"

 

Thick, heavy, tense silence filled the room. Lance caught his breath, having tired himself out by accident with his yelling.

 

Moments passed, long and tense and agonising. Pink began to creep onto Lance's cheeks, humiliation beginning to settle in from his unexpected display of emotions. When Keith spoke again, his voice was sharp and cruel. Any progress that may have been made to get Lance onto his good side could now be safely declared pointless.

"I want you out of my room," he demanded suddenly, abruptly, his voice cold and almost emotionless, like he just decided to repress everything to avoid further conflict.

"I planned on leaving, anyway," Lance simply muttered, folding his arms over his chest. What a load of bullshit. 

 

Lance took a shaky step forward but met Keith's scrutinising gaze, feeling an urge to prove himself as better than Keith's expectations of him. His tongue between his teeth, he began walking, pushing himself forward and ignoring all of the pain that shot up his injured legs in blinding streaks of agony. His breathing was slightly shaky, but he continued nonetheless. The door was opened for him and Lance just glared at the ground as he hobbled out, his face slightly red.

 

The second the door was closed behind him, he let out a breath and released his now-bleeding tongue from between his teeth. Donned in his unclean clothes, the male (who was now feeling particularly disgusting,) limped out of the cabin and began to hunt down Hunk, his first searching place being the dining hall. Hunk would likely be preparing lunch for the crew by now. He could hope, anyway; he didn't want to have to go down multiple flights of stairs to attempt to find him. The dining hall was the closest location.

 

Keith, upon finally being alone again, remade the bed and grabbed another bottle of unmarked rum to drain throughout the day. The life of a pirate. Evidently, it couldn't get better than this.

 

Beginning to strip to get into clean clothes, his thoughts flickered back to the argument they'd had. He wasn't going to lie- he was aware of how idiotic he had been by lashing out at Blue for doing nothing wrong. He had simply referred to Takashi by name, which wasn't an uncommon thing to do. God, fuck, he wished he remembered what he had said to Blue about 'Kashi. He knew he overreacted too much, but there was no chance in hell of him apologising or making up for it. Far too stubborn for that, and all too aware of it, Keith had already decided that he wasn't the one owing an apology to someone else.

 

 

Lance's attempt to get to the dining hall to hide away under Hunk's protection was sabotaged. Not too long after he had left Keith's room, someone stepped out in front of him and began speaking. This man stood with his hands on his hips, his stature and demeanour demanding attention and authority. 

Muscles were visible through his shirt, which stuck to his body- though whether it stuck because of sweat, a spilt drink, or a mix of them both was unknown. Distracted and mildly disgusted, Lance hadn't been listening to the demands of the male. The only thing that did bring his attention back to the present was the man slamming both palms into Lance's chest.

 

The force of the impact was only enough to make him stumble, but the weight pressed onto his injured leg caused his leg to buckle and he collapsed with a soft curse. By the time he was back up, shaking slightly due to the pain, the man had left. Lance caught sight of him disappearing downstairs and gave a paranoid sweep of those on deck.

 

Very few people were staring at him, which was better than he'd expected. Beginning to limp back toward the dining hall, keeping his gaze forward, Lance began to realise just how much he hated being aboard the ship. He probably would have found it easier to blend in if he hadn't had an audience for his atrocious duel with the captain.

 

This time, he reached the dining hall without interruption or further bullying, though he did realise how weak he was when it took him multiple attempts, throwing his weight into the door, to get it to open. God, he hated being so scrawny sometimes. 

"Y-Yellow?" He called out apprehensively, only using the nickname in case someone else was present. He stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him and slamming loud enough to make him jump. The smell of food and spices was strong, causing his stomach to growl loudly. He couldn't recall the last time he'd eaten, though he was likely intoxicated when he had last eaten, which probably didn't help.

 

His arm wrapped around his stomach as if doing so would help anything, and he spotted the friendly face peering out at him from the kitchen the far side of the dining hall. He grinned at Hunk, waving as he was beckoned over and quickly beginning to hobble toward his only friend.

 

As soon as he was close enough, he was brought in for a tight hug. Wrapping his arms back around Hunk, Lance was relieved to be embraced, glad to be liked by someone so casual on a shithole like this. After his conversation with the captain the other day, Hunk was glad that Lance was still alive.

 

Lance slumped against Hunk slightly as he was released, watching Hunk slice the meat into many, many small squares.

"What's cooking?" He questioned, straightening up and examining the meat, then turning his gaze back to Hunk.

"Sea turtle," the other replied as he slid it into a pot of stew, reaching up to take a small rack of spices in bags. He examined a few backs before adding sprinkles of a few, the amounts added varying. Lance watched with a fascinated gaze, having never seen so many spices used. Hunk was a good cook.

"Is that easy to cook, then?" he asked as he perched on a table, swinging his legs slightly. Hunk nodded.

"Oh, definitely. One of the easiest ingredients, and probably the best we can get. We catch them and flip them onto their shells, so whenever we decide to eat them we can have fresh meat." 

 

He watched silently, not commenting on the sea turtle ideals, beginning to gather up the vegetables they still had. He sliced them up and dropped them into the stew, too, ignoring how Lance watched everything with hungry eyes. He was soon handed a slightly stale piece of bread and said a quick thanks before devouring it, clearly hungrier than he'd thought he would be.

"Need any help?" Lance questioned through a mouthful of bread, his eyes fixed on Lance and his head tipped to the side. Shaking his head, Hunk stirred the thick stew, mixing the ingredients.

"There's not much else to do," he shrugged as he prepared the meal, clearly not as focused on Lance as Lance was on him. "Even if there was, I'd rather you got some rest. And," he turned to look at the other just to glance at his torn pant leg and his sweaty, stained shirt, "you really ought to pick up some new clothes. I doubt that my clothes will fit- you might get away with wearing a shirt, but it'd be inconveniently large, and Pidge's clothes will all be too small..." Frowning, he turned back to the pot to keep it from burning.

 

Lance pushed his hair from his face. He'd been planning on getting a haircut after work the day that this had happened, so his hair was starting to get irritably long, his hair starting to obscure his sight. Hunk was still talking.

"The clothes that may be stored in the treasury are likely to be sold, and would be inconvenient to wear- too expensive and made with thicker materials-" Lance was beginning to block him out. He was only being told the irrelevant details of where /not/ to get clothes. Hunk seemed to have forgotten that he needed to know where to look to actually get them.

 

 

"Hunk," he interrupted, his voice raised slightly so that Hunk would actually hear him. "/Hunk/." Even then, he had to repeat himself to get the male's full attention. "Where should I go to actually get the clothes?" He asked with a frown, feeling bad for interrupting and potentially seeming rude. "Sorry, Hunk, I just need to get out of these clothes as soon as possible, and perhaps wash." This was important, so he shouldn't feel bad for insisting on getting answers but he disliked being rude to the one person who actually somewhat liked him.

 

Hunk seemed confused for a few moments, eyes slightly wide like he'd yet to realise he'd begun rambling. He paused for a moment to recollect his thoughts before speaking again, turning away from Lance and occupying himself with the stew out of embarrassment. According to Pidge, Hunk usually did this, so he wasn't exactly surprised, just frustrated that he always got so carried away when speaking.

"Oh, right... uhh... yeah, that was the point," he said as he tightened the knot on his bandana, "I don't know if anyone here will be the right size. Well- anyone nice enough to lend out clothes to someone who has just joined. Not to mention that we'll be sailing for at least another week before we stop off, which means you'll possibly be able to get new clothes for around another week." He began tidying the kitchen, clearing everything away, needing to busy himself with something while he waited for the stew to cook.

 

Shifting around a little, Lance frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean? His brows furrowed and he watched Hunk move around.

"What am I supposed to do, then? Go naked?" He folded his arms over his chest, accidentally sounding accusing. This derived a soft laugh from Hunk, a pleasant laugh that even made Lance smile despite the situation.

"I was going to recommend that you keep wearing those clothes but wash them often, or you wear clothes that don't fit regardless and tolerate the mocking comments made until perhaps a week after you get proper clothes. Pidge has surely got a belt you can use if you want to wear some of my clothes. He's like a hoarder- you could ask him for /anything/ and he'd have it."

 

Lance ducked out before the conversation could shift onto Pidge having a habit of collecting things he didn't need. He got Hunk to tell him where the saltwater pump was so that he could wash his shirt and go shirtless for a while- it was a hot day, so that would likely be preferable, desperate to clean himself up a little. When he got there, he unbuttoned and slipped off his waistcoat and shirt, dunking them both in a bucket of saltwater. He cleaned them as best as he could and hung them up on some rope. Other crew members clothes were strewn about, so it was evidently being used as a washing line.

A soft sigh escaped him as he took a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, dipping it in the water and using it to wash himself off. He wiped off as much sweat and dirt and grime as he could before washing the rag and leaving it on the line between his shirt and waistcoat. He didn't want his injury to distract from his job, but he would only stop and let people push him around if he didn't get to the crews quarters first. Provided that he could get into his hammock, he'd rest. If he was called over beforehand, he'd do whatever would be requested of him. He already had a bad name for being injured in such a pathetic manner so soon.

 

His track record as a pirate was shameful so far. All he had done was humiliate himself, irritate the captain, and depend on others. 

Regardless, he was here and that wouldn't change anytime soon, so he would just make desperate attempts to focus on the future and avoid any further humiliation as best as he could. The cool air and the warmth of the sun on his bare torso was pleasant and allowed him to relax a little. God, getting out of those unwashed and disgusting clothes had felt better than he'd expected, and washing himself down- whether the water was ice cold or not- made him feel noticeably less miserable. Now all he had to do was change his pants or find some time to wash them when nobody would be around to see him half naked, if not fully naked, waiting for his clothes to dry.

 

As disgusting as it was to admit it, with a sticky bandage and wearing the same pants for the sixth, he assumed, day in a row, having only wiped himself down quickly to get rid of most of the grime on himself, this was the cleanest he'd been in days.

 

He continued to waddle toward the banister, his mind now successfully blocking out most of the pain in his leg and thus allowing him to walk with less of a noticeable hobble. He finally got as far as placing one hand on the banister and was about to take his first awkward and probably painful step toward relaxing in a (hopefully somewhat clean) hammock when his nickname was called somewhere behind him. He tensed and forced himself not to grimace or roll his eyes or curse, turning and seeing Pidge running toward him. 

 

Vaguely gesturing toward the stairs as he shot past Lance and dove down them, excitement seemed clear in the behaviour of the smaller. He only barely managed to stop himself at the bottom of the stairs so Lance could pursue. He did, following shortly after but at a much slower pace. Snatching the arm of the almost-irritatingly energetic Pidge before he could scamper off again, Lance finally got his attention. "Where are you going?" He questioned, having the smaller present to him a small black key, 'armoury' engraved in the handle almost illegibly. 

"I thought there were only two of..." he mumbled, glancing to Pidge's expression and immediately realising what had happened. "No," he said quickly as he let go of his arm. "No way. You didn't- Who- Who did you take it from? Which key is that?" He asked worriedly, getting shushed quickly and dragged, still limping, toward the armoury. "Seriously, Pidge," he began but was only shushed again by an increasingly giddy dirty-blond. He didn't want to be held accountable for any of this shit!

 

He attempted to pull free from the surprisingly firm grip of the other. "Really, I need to get to my hammock and-" rolling his eyes, Pidge jammed the key into the lock and began to wiggle it, soon successfully turning it and cheering as he pushed the door open.

"Quit whining, Lance! We'll be fine! Keith always loses this key, he won't even realise it's gone! Even if he does, he'll assume he misplaced it." Yeah, that wasn't surprising.

"Do you steal from Keith often?" He asked as he limped inside, standing around awkwardly while he waited to be told what to do.

"Everyone does!" He said with a small grin. "A couple of coins will disappear and Keith will assume he just paid someone onboard for something to drink, ruddy alcoholic. If alcohol disappears, he assumes he finished the bottle and threw it overboard. We tried stealing some clothes from his room once, when he forgot to lock the door. They wouldn't have even fit him, but he noticed as soon as he got back and we all got beat up pretty bad." Shrugging, the dirty-blond settled down on a pile of stolen clothes tucked away in the corner. Lance followed and settled down beside him.

 

A few moments of quiet passed, the only noises being footsteps above their heads and the soft noises of the ocean beneath them. Lance's curiosity overtook the silence, though, and he spoke shortly.

"How long have you been working here?" He questioned as he shifted in his seat to get a little comfier. Were all the clothes stolen from people who were dead now? Were the clothes taken from them before or after they'd died? Pidge brought him out of his thoughts by speaking.

"Working," he echoed with a small laugh, "/Living/, but only for around a year." He turned his attention to Lance and pushed his glasses a little further up his nose. "I was working at a family shop when my dad and brother, around your age, disappeared in some freak accident. I'd spent forever trying to learn enough about them to find them again- I only recently found out that they were pirates- and found out that they were aboard this ship, the Praesidion. I boarded and hid to try to find more about them, as a stowaway. I was found, evidently, and explained what had happened to the cap'n. Dunno what he was thinking at the time to hire me instead o' killin' me, but I'm grateful and I've been pretty damn loyal ever since. I just need to find 'em." He got a little comfier, leaning back on the pile.

 

Lance nodded and processed the information, looking away. Pidge and Keith were fairly similar, only in their current situation as a consequence of people who were close to them going missing. He hoped his family wouldn't take such drastic measures for him. Naturally, he doubted that they cared enough, but nonetheless he worried. He didn't know what he would do with himself if anyone from his family ended up in a place like this for his sake- especially someone as young as Pidge.

 

"Hey, Pidge," he began as he sat up slightly, turning to look at the dirty-blond, who returned the gaze with curiosity.

"How much of Keith's shit do you reckon we could steal without him realising?" Pidge grinned, and the new conversations began, bringing with them a closer bond. Lance hadn't spent enough time around Pidge to realise how good of a friend he could be. Besides- it was fun to have some company when insulting the captain.


	26. A Trading Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than usual but I'm already working on the next one!! Not sure how I feel abt this update.

It was approximately three hours before they were disturbed. 

 

Hunk had come down upon realising that the two of them weren't likely to appear for their meal, bringing two portions of the stew. He had unlocked and entered the armoury. It was clearly somewhere Pidge hid away often and he explained shortly that he had overheard the two of them talking while in the corridor.

 

Perching on the edge of the table to rest, Hunk watched his two friends happily devour their stew. They'd both been too interested in their discussions and too distracted thinking about abusing the privileges of Keith's alcohol problem to focus on themselves and their growing hunger. In the short time they'd been there, the two of them had devised a perfect plan on how to replace almost all objects in his room with painted rocks. They both agreed that at least eighteen small items could be changed without being noticed. 

 

Lance had gotten quite fond of Pidge, which was slightly surprising after knowing each other for such little time. He was content being sealed in an off-limits room with the other, especially when he clearly knew little secrets about the place. He didn't doubt that Pidge knew enough hiding spots to live in this room if he wanted to.

"You oughta return that key soon, though, Pidge," Hunk said shortly as he stood, glancing to the door. "It's my job to make sure people like you ain't busting in here n' hiding from yer responsibilities, after all." Letting out a loud and irate groan, Pidge slumped further in the heap of expensive clothes he lay on.

"I'm hardly hidin' from any responsibilities, thankya very much," he remarked smugly as his arms folded over his chest. "I'd even go 's far as ta argue that my new, self-ordered job of lookin' after our buddy Lance is pretty damn important." It almost sounded like he was arguing.

"Is it... obligat'ry ta keep an eye on 'im in an off-limits area? One of the two aboard, as opposed ta somewhere that's just rather quiet?"

"How else am I supposed to make sure we're not interrupted, ye fat pile o' shit?" He then snapped in a loud enough voice to make Lance flinch. The tensions were high for a long few moments and his gaze flickered between the two of them. Dead silent, he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting someone. All in a moment, the tension faded as Hunk's lips split into a grin, beginning to let out a loud chuckle of a laugh- lighthearted and pleasant.

 

Pidge soon followed, smaller and sharper laughs escaping him- occasionally followed with snorts of laughter. Lance was utterly baffled. The two of them evidently had a good relationship- they were amusing to watch and their company was thoroughly enjoyable.

 

Regardless of their good relationship and the (apparently amusing) insult, Hunk had soon convinced Pidge to vacate the armoury and Lance had hobbled behind, smiling fondly to himself. Could he just fake his death and live in the armoury with Pidge and Hunk? God, he wished. Finally, though, Lance could retreat to the crews cabin. Somehow clambering onto his hammock with only one good leg (and having never used one before), Lance lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

His legs were outstretched as he lay there, looking up at the wooden panels on the ceiling and listening to the neutral noise from upstairs- footsteps, shouting, noise he'd dealt with all his life and could easily sleep in spite of it all.

 

Pidge was shortly summoned upstairs and he was eventually alone in the cabin. Everyone had too much to be doing to come in. He pulled the small ruby from his pocket and sighed a little as he studied it, aware that he needed to put it back in Keith's cabin as soon as possible. Whenever he was next summoned there, he'd slip it onto a desk or drop it or something.

He'd already studied it enough to know that, aside from it being a valuable gem and the imprint in the back, there was nothing exciting about it. He just needed to return it. He pushed the item back into his pocket and rolled onto his side- injured leg still outstretched and his other up at an angle, slightly curled up. 

 

He woke up when it was dark out.

 

There were no longer footsteps upstairs and instead, only the sounds of breathing and snoring and occasional murmurs from his sleeping crew members. Evidently, he was the only one awake. His clothes- the ones that had been washed- were hung over the string on his bed; it was safe to assume that that was Hunk's doing. Slowly slipping out of bed, he scampered despite his hobble toward the upper deck as quietly as possible.

 

Keith's lantern in his room was lit, meaning that he was awake and likely either drinking or working. Deciding to avoid him entirely and save his own skin, Lance moved around back of the kitchen, to the water pump. He was shivering- he should have picked up his shirt. Nonetheless, he slipped out of his pants and began to wash them in the icy water. Hanging them up and sitting with his back against the wooden wall, Lance decided it wouldn't hurt to stay here to kill time.

 

He'd rather not go to his hammock without his pants but he needed them to dry to regain some sense of dignity and hygiene. He then glanced at the bucket and sighed, tipping his head forward and pouring some water over the back of his head. It shot icy chills down his spine but he needed to wash his hair. He began running his fingers through his hair, sighing softly as he felt himself be slowly rid of dirt and grime and grease.

 

Taking his handkerchief off the line- it had been left there- he began wiping the lower half of his body clean. He wiped carefully around his wound, rubbing himself as free of grime as possible. His own hygiene almost made him nauseated, but the most uncomfortable part was using cold, salty seawater to wipe his crotch clean. God, he wanted to get a proper bath whenever they next stopped. This place was vile. He washed and hung up his rag again, relieved to be a little cleaner, and looked up at the night sky.

While his mind was still on the subject of civilised luxuries- he needed a haircut, so he'd pick up scissors. And fresh food. He couldn't have expected that he would have missed bread this much. Not to mention clothes, which were clearly an urgent matter. It would be a great relief to finally have something to change into. Nonetheless, until then, he would be making do in the same clothes.

 

Still shivering, his hair wet and his legs slowly drying, Lance figured that it was definitely a stupid choice not to wear anything when he'd arrived. It wouldn't have killed him to have stolen a jacket or something from Hunk before coming to prevent hypothermia. And what if anyone coincidentally arrived? He was pretty sure the humiliation would kill him before anything else on the ship. Sitting here, almost entirely naked, with his pants on the washing line. It took hours for the clothes to dry, even without any sense of time, yet when he pulled them back on they were still damp. Uncomfortable. Maybe he /would/ rather take the risk of being seem walking around in his underwear instead of having his damp pants rub against his legs awkwardly with every single damn step.

 

Regardless, he wore them and began to hobble to get back to the crews cabin so he could sleep a little more in his damp pants. God, it sounded so disgusting. Having only been up for a few hours, he was already surprisingly exhausted. He did need more sleep. He had no idea what had woken him up so soon. 

 

Unluckily, though, the captain had vacated from his cabin, the door left wide open, to stare wistfully out to sea in gaps between vomiting. Lance wasn't sure what to do- move and risk being heard or stay still and risk being seen. Thankfully, he didn't need to chose, as the captain had turned and seen him already.

"Who is that?" The sharp voice came, hoarse and gruff but not lacking malice. "Come here, into the light, n' that's a damn order!" Lance could see Keith reach behind him and saw a silver glint- a blade from his back pocket. Paranoid bastard.

"Steady, captain, it's me," he called out as he approached with slow hobbling steps, biting his lip when he got closer and into the soft golden lantern's glow. A relieved sigh escaped the captain as he looked away, tucking the blade away once more.

"I demand ta know why yer up at such a late hour." That was the most polite way Lance would ever be asked what he was doing, he assumed.

"Jus' woke up is all, captain. I'm afraid I was unable to go back to sleep n' so I cleaned off my clothes at the water pump."

 

Keith nodded. Dead silent, his gaze flickered back to the ocean. The soft glow cast strange shadows onto his face. He seemed perfectly relaxed, though, for once. Did he usually stay up here, alone?

 

The heavy silence that overtook them filled Lance with awkwardness but he knew of no way to resurrect the situation or initiate conversation without risking vexing the captain. Keith had already, seemingly, lost all interest in both him and what he was doing. The smaller turned and started back to the lower deck, deciding he should just leave while he was able to.

 

"Blue,"

Or not.

"Come back fer a moment."

"Aye, capitan," murmured Lance upon trudging begrudgingly toward his superior. "'S There an issue, sir?" his soft voice questioned, anxious for a moment that he was going to be scolded or threatened despite how irrational that was. If he was going to be scolded, then it would have been done already. Surely. 

 

A few moments passed of silence. Keith looked conflicted for a few moments before he turned his attention away and a soft breath escaped him. He ran one hand through his knotted black hair to push it away from his eyes and shook his head.

"Nn..." he glanced toward his cabin for a moment before his attention fixed back onto Lance, who was leant awkwardly on his uninjured leg and seemed confused. "No," he said decisively. "None at all." His gaze fixing on the ocean once more, he repeated himself. "None at all." Like he was insisting to himself that there was no issue to take up with Lance.

 

"I changed my mind. Return to yer hammock and do not return until morning. there's not supposed to be crew out of their hammocks so late. Goodnight and good riddance." He then burst out with, still not even glancing at Lance before he turned sharply and strode confidently back to his cabin. The door slammed shut behind him and the dim glow of candles slowly faded as the other smothered them. Only then did Lance snap out of his trance and nod, turning and beginning to hobble toward the lower deck.

 

The captain always acted so strange- strange and vulnerable- when he was drunk like that. Did he behave similarly around every member of his crew? If so... he was a really poor captain. it was no wonder he was so fearful of mutinies. 

 

-

 

The following morning, however, Lance acted differently to usual. He woke up late and tugged on his clean clothes, leaving about four shirt buttins undone to ward off the heat that would inevitably strike, leaving his chest slightly exposed. He tied a blue bandana around his forehead to keep off the sun and to avoid sweating too profusely. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up just past his elbows. He glanced to the hammocks Pidge and Hunk usually slept in and found them empty, assuming that they had already left to start the day. Hunk had likely already made breakfast and it was easy to assume that Pidge was in the crows nest. 

 

His injury already felt noticeably better- it was easier to walk on now, too, and Lance naturally assumed that he was getting used to the pain instead of assuming that he waas healing quickly. He still hadyet to remove the sticky bandage simply necause of the poor hygiene standards of the ship and how worried it made him. An infection on a ship? He'd heard plenty of horror tales of people losing arms or legs when infections were too difficult to tread and amputation became a compelling alternative. He didn't want a fake leg. He didn't want to lose either of the legs he had.

In fact, he was content keeping all four of his limbs attached to his body.

 

Abandoning the crews quarters, Lance was eager to disappear upstairs. he wanted to get some- any- work done today to feel a little more useful. After all, yesterday had hardly been an efficient work day. He'd only slacked off and hidden away in the armoury.

 

The day was, overall, exhausting. Full of menial tasks and work that people were too lazy to do themselves and that he couldn't refuse to do. He'd accidentally bumped his leg against a multitude of different crates and poles by accident while running back and forth, too, which usually meant he needed a few moments to recover. Nonetheless, he had completed an almost-endless day of almost-endless work.

 

They were finally getting an hour or so of relaxation when loud and frantic footsteps from across the deck came closer. A few people heard and their conversations died to listen to the footsteps out of curiosity.

 

The door was thrown open and slammed against the door, all other conversations stopping immediately as their attention was forced onto Pidge- stood in the doorway, panting, eyes wide.

"Trading ship!" He shouted breathlessly and was immediately met with a roar of response. People began to stand and pushed away their food. "It's a trading ship! Off the starboard side!" He only barely got out of the way enough to avoid trampling. The room was empty in a matter of seconds, a cacophony of cheers and shouts and loud conversations following the group.

 

Near the front of the group, Hunk (dragging Lance by his wrist) arrived in front of and unlocked the armoury, leaving people on the upper deck to raise the black flag to initiate combat. Lance stood outside, dumbfounded, as swords and guns were piled up in his arms. People rushing past snatched their weapon of choice from him, all of them loudly talking about their excitement for the fight. The eagerness for bloodshed was astounding but... it wasn't like they got any entertainment from other things.

 

A few stray shouts from this direction and the other allowed Lance to piece together that the ship had cannons, then another shout said that they were only painted on, and another and another overlapping series of shouts made him unable to register any other potentially important information. That only meant that their ship wouldn't come to receive any physical damage. Not from anything other than swords and bullets, meaning that this should be an easy battle to win. Or so he assumed. After all, their firepower would greatly overwhelm the others ship.

 

Soon, those who were armed were on the upper deck once more and those who weren't armed or were assigned to the cannons fled into another room. A few moments passed before someone with a sharp voice from somewhere he didn't pay attention to reminded him that he was a powder monkey. He ditched his weapons and sprinted to the storage unit, rolling a barrel of gunpowder to access the cannons. He was tense, anxious, fear-induced adrenaline pumping through his tense body. 

 

Meanwhile, on the upper deck, Keith was donned with his sword and was stood on the edge of the railing, shifting his balance with each movement of the ship to avoid falling, watching the opposing ship as it approached. Soon, they had released their anchors and were a matter of metres from each other. The captain of the opposing ship approached, standing behind the railing, in the safety of his ship. Armed men were surrounding him, waiting to see any of them step out of line to be shot. Keith grinned.

"It'll be a pleasure doing business with you," his voice came, suave and casual. The male grit his teeth and drew his sword.

"We'll not surrender to a band of good for nothing pirates," he hissed out defiantly, causing a laugh to sweep over Keith's ship.

"We don't care whether or not you surrender. The only thing it'll change," a soft gunshot came from the far side of his ship and one of the traders cried out before thumping down on the deck, dead. "Is how many lives you lose."

 

Leaping off the railing and getting to behind cover as bullets sprayed behind him, Keith grinned widely. A war cry sounded from his lips, causing his crew to launch into action. With the calamity of thirty-forty men all running at an opposing ship, Keith had successfully survived the array of bullets and was now safe to begin up the mast.

 

Others were doing, or had already started doing, the same. There were people around him on all sides climbing up to swing to the opposing deck and people from the opposite ship doing the same. Not only did he have vastly superior numbers and equipment but Keith was also arrogant enough to say that their skills surpassed those of the pathetic trading ship fools with ease.

 

His sword was in its sheathe and he grabbed ahold of a rope, swinging onto the ship opposite him. A loud thump sounded as he landed on deck, drawing his sword and scanning the people around him, flashing a grin.

 

Finally, he thought to himself, something to make him feel alive.


End file.
